Number Crunching
by Martin79
Summary: PC Rob Weston's first day on the beat causes problems for the relief when he is given Cass Rickman's old epaulette number
1. Arrival

**Number Crunching**

By

Martin79

Rating: T

Distribution: Would be brilliant but please ask first

Main Characters: PC Rob Weston and PC Tony Stamp

Background: This story is set in March 2003

Disclaimer: All characters taken from Thames Television's 'The Bill' created by Geoff McQueen. All originals copyrighted to the author.

Author's Note: This story for me was an exercise in creating a character, PC Rob Weston, and writing a first episode for him. Hope you enjoy it!

"Tall, stunningly handsome and smooth talking," mused PC Kerry Young.

"A millionaire playboy with large mansions dotted all over the world who solves crimes on the side," added PC Honey Harman.

The relief were gathered in the Parade Room ready for the start of another shift. A buzz was zipping around the place about the new officer who was starting work that day and everyone had their own thoughts and theories about what they might be like. Some were looking forward to it whilst others preferred the status quo to remain the same and felt that, on the whole, there had been too many changes of late. Last year's fire still left many scars on the inside.

"So we're talking about getting in one of '_The Persuaders_' then?" joked Tony Stamp.

"Lost me there, Tone" Honey replied.

"It was a TV series, Roger Moore and Tony Curtis? Anyone?" he continued.

"Who says it's a bloke, might be a well fit bird," smiled Gary Best from the next seat.

"Hey, I'd be up for a bit o' that," added Des Taviner.

"You know why men call women 'birds', Des? It's because we pick up nasty little worms like you!" Kerry spat back.

"Two seconds ago I coulda slipped over on the drool coming out of your two gobs, you'd think Russell Crowe was joining the nick!" Des replied.

"It's a bloke anyway, Gary, I saw his name on a sheet in Inspector Gold's office. It's Robert something or other," remarked Honey.

"Could still be a woman, what about Nigella Lawson she 'as a blokes name. Well, sort of," Gary added. "Might be Roberta."

"I knew a Roberta once, used to come to our meetings at the 'Canley Model Train Enthusiasts Club'. Had a very nice Flying Scotsman as I recall," added Reg Hollis.

"Woah, easy on those explicit adult details, Reggiebabe," added Des cheekily, "but still, Roberta, what sort of a name is that!"

"Settle down, class, settle down!" Inspector Gina Gold entered the room and immediately the group clamed up and awaited the morning's mixture of news and pep talks. Sergeant's Boyden and Murphy, talking amongst themselves, plus an additional Constable flanked her. A tall, dark haired man with a thin face that looked like a history book had been imprinted on it. The history fought his youth for possession of the visage; he certainly looked older than his true age of 34 and a ripple of supposition spread through the relief. The noise grew louder as they began to mutter to each other.

"Oi! Teacher's talking now!" Gina continued, killing the sound waves. "First off, as you all have noticed, this is the new boy PC Robert Weston who has transferred here all the way from the leafy glades of Surrey. Normally it's the other way around but we can only assume that he is some kind of masochist," she turned and smiled briefly at the man. "Introductions over, good, take a seat please, Robert."

As he sat down Rob couldn't help noticing even more murmurs rumbling around the group. He sat up straight and crossed his arms and legs over his immaculately pressed uniform, a concession to his first day at a new station, and wondered what the source of the gossip could be.

"Full day ahead, boys and girls," Gina continued. " Des and Reg in Sierra One."

Des shot a smug look in Gemma Osbourne's direction, celebrating a mini triumph over his rival for being posted to the Area Car.

"Gemma and Nick in Sierra Two."

"Nick isn't here yet, ma'am," Gemma interrupted.

"Not again! Honestly there's more chance of Robert Peel turning up to work lately than Nick bloody Klein. Ok then take Gary instead," she sighed. "When Mr Klein does bless us with his presence he can spend the shift in CAD. Since that leaves a Gary shaped hole to fill, Tony you can take PC Weston on Beat four with you."

"But ma'am I…" Tony sighed and began to protest but knew it wouldn't be worth the hassle "…would be glad to do it."

She then proceeded to pair up the rest of the relief with one another and assign the various duties of the day.

"Also keep a lookout for a burglar working the Copthorne Estate and the surrounding area, we've had a rainforest's worth of complaints from there recently. That gang of teenage pickpockets is still working the Whitegate Centre – this time I want to nail the little bastards. CID also want to know if we get any reports of dodgy activity from 'Sids Café' on Watermans Road. It seems they think Terry Molloy is using it as a front for drugs and I'm sure anyone who's tasted the bacon butties would agree it's certainly not any kind of restaurant. Carl Trent and his merry men are also back on the patch so keep a look out for them too. So that's another day in paradise. Well go on, shoo," Gina announced gesturing the relief to the door.

As everyone shuffled slowly to their positions Kerry stood up straightened her uniform and watched as Tony Stamp guided the new Constable out the door. Her eyes fixed on the three numbers pinned to the shoulder of his jacket – 518. Pursing her lips and wrinkling her nose a little she made a beeline for Matt Boyden, striding over like a stroppy teenager.

"Sarge, a word please!" she asked firmly as he turned around to leave the room.

"That's four already, Kerry," he replied cockily and barely looking up from his paperwork. "What is it, I'm expected in CAD?"

"The new PC is 518."

"So, it's a number, so what?"

"So he has Cass's, number!" she continued.

"So do half the blokes in Canley but they don't go shouting the odds at me," he smirked. "What's the problem it's only a number?"

"A number which belonged to Cass or have you forgotten about her already?" she spat back.

"When you've been in the Force for as long as I have, Kerry, you'll understand that people come and go and the numbers mean squat. I've known at least three people at this nick with the call sign 832 down the years. This is just another classic Home Office cock up; that number should not have been reassigned so quickly after Cass died and at the same station no less. Some pen pusher with a bale of hay for a brain must've signed it off without thinking so you'll just have to live with it. End of," he added starring her in the face.

"I'll just have to go over your head to Mr Okaro then!" she protested.

"Be my guest but he'll just say the same as I have," Matt replied calmly.

" He can't! Someone has to do something…it can't stay like this," a couple of tears started to run down her face as all her memories of the murder came flooding back.

"Kerry, this isn't a battle worth fighting. I knew Cass a lot longer than you did and I would do anything to have her back here now but you just have to put it behind you, suck it all up inside, you have a job to do," he replied soberly.

"Her identity, those three numbers, were the last physical things of Cass left and now they're gone, assigned to some country boy who fancied a stab at life in the big city. Her locker has been cleared out, her flat stripped bare and even her grave is up in Liverpool. It's like she was never here at all!" Kerry, with more tears in her eyes, left the room immediately. Matt felt a little guilty that he couldn't help but decided to leave her to it, she'll come round in an hour or so. Kerry Young could strop for England. She closed the door with a loud bang that reverberated around the station.

"…And here we have Taft Road, the centre of Sun Hill's booming drug industry, known locally as Coke Lane," said Tony Stamp in the manner of a tour guide. Rob looked from left to right, gave a slight smile, and replied.

"The local beauty spot?"

"One amongst many. You haven't lived until you've seen the Jasmine Allen Estate in full bloom, teenage mothers, crackheads and yobbos as far as the eye can see. Certainly no reason for leaving leafy Surrey though," he added.

"This is where the action is, if you want to take part in real front line policing then you go into the Met. So I did," Rob replied walking a steady pace along the road feeling like the new sheriff in town surveying his patch.

"But in Sun Hill?"

"First place with a vacancy."

"Sounds a bit sudden."

"Act on impulse, as the advert says," he added.

"Welcome anyway. You've just come at a bit of a bad time that's all."

"Why's that?"

"Well surely you've heard about the explosion and everything else," Tony added soberly.

"That was here? Sorry I didn't realise, I did notice some of the others looking at me a bit strangely though."

"That's actually for another reason. Did you hear about the serial killer we had down here, Pat Kitson?"

"Yeah, on the news a few months back, is this about that WPC she killed?" Rob asked, looking all around him as he talked and taking all the sights sounds and smells of Sun Hill.

"Cass Rickman, that was her name, she was from this station too," Tony revealed slowly.

"Oh, sorry to hear that."

"…And you've got her number, 518," Tony added. He had recognised the number as Rob first walked in through the door and thought it only fair he knew before some irate member of the relief did something that they would regret. Kerry Young already had a stern look on her face throughout most of parade.

"Oh, great, just what I needed on my first day!" Rob complained. "This is just typical of my luck, I hoped this would be a change but I might as well give it up now. This is a bad omen."

"Its not as bad as all that, I'm sure everyone will get used to you in due course," Tony said trying to calm him down and a little taken aback at his reaction to the situation.

"This happened on my first day in Woking, well not this exactly, taking a dead officers number when the grave has barely been mown for the first time is a new one for me but just something bad y'know," Rob replied as they walked further down the street although he had started to go a little slower.

"What happened then?" Tony asked.

"Crime of the century, parked in the DI's space," he smiled.

"Doesn't sound too bad."

"Not on the top but he was a well respected man. Apparently he was stabbed once saving a teenage girl from a rapist and never showed a single moment of pain even holding onto the bloke until back up arrived. However nicking his parking space was seen as a newbie insulting the bloke and therefore the whole station. I was okay after a couple years worth of jokes though," he explained.

"This wasn't your fault though, some idiot in admin cocked it right up."

"Its still a bad omen though. I thought my flat was the only one."

"Your flat?"

"Room 101, not exactly a lucky number thanks to George Orwell," he replied.

Tony rolled his eyes a little. "Could be 1313 that would be worse wouldn't it? So where is this flat of doom located then, I presume it's not in the section house."

"Oldenburg House in Fawcett Gardens."

"Smart neighbourhood, better than the Skid Row my gaffs in," Tony replied, ushering Rob along.

"You have an actual Skid Row here?"

"No but plenty of contenders though," Tony laughed.

"How do you personally feel about me taking Cass's place?" Rob asked suddenly.

"No-one can take Cass's place," Tony replied sharply, "but what's in a number. I won't deny it'll be weird having 518 back on the air but its not as though this hasn't happened before. Enough numbers have changed hands around here in the past to make up many a lottery ticket. Can't speak for the other members of the relief though especially the younger ones, especially Nick Klein. You haven't met him yet but he's the one that really worries me."

"The sickie?"

"Yeah he's been a bit unreliable recently, not been all there since the death, he had some strong feelings for her, he's the one that found the body too," Tony explained.

"So I'm walking around with the spectre of a dead woman on my shoulder, half the station hates me for it and now I might even get assaulted by the psycho ex. Well this'll make an interesting story for the grandchildren, if I ever survive it that is," Rob mused as they continued on their way.


	2. Burglary at the Slomans

"Doesn't seem right Cass's number being given out again like first prize in a raffle or somethin'" moaned Gary Best nursing a cup of tea with his feet up on the dashboard of the van.

"It's only a number, Gary, it was bound to happen eventually," replied Gemma Osbourne holding a similar plastic cup. The van was parked up a small side street a few metres away from a burger van named '_Donald Macs_'. Nobody knew whether or not this was actually the owner's name or a bad pun on the name of a well-known fast food restaurant designed to drum up business.

"And take those down," she added swatting his legs with an old copy of 'The Sun'. "Its not you who'll have to wipe those hoof marks off the windscreen at the end of the shift."

"Oww that 'urt," he complained. " Nobody'll touch my number though, 149 until I die. Or at least until I get into CID."

"I hate to break it to you, DCI Best, but you're still in uniform so shift your plates!" she whacked his legs again forcing him to finally remove them.

"Can't believe all the girls are droolin' over 'im too," he continued.

"That's what this is really about! Aww poor little Gary are they not paying enough attention to you," Gemma cooed

"Gerroff!" he pushed her away. "Bet you fancy 'im too!"

"Yeah, I just went straight all of a sudden, " she answered sarcastically, starting to flick though the paper. "Hey, this is three weeks old, why does Tommo never clean this out!"

"But you're a woman though ain't ya? You must like blokes somewhere deep down, its in the DNA or the hormones or whatever," he persisted.

"Is this another attempt to get into my pants, Gary? If I feel something for another bloke then maybe you might have a chance is that it?" she threw the paper in the back.

"No…well…I was just thinking. All the rest of 'em do and he's got this dark and mysterious thing going on," Gary said hesitantly.

"Actually," added Gemma inching closer to him. "I did look him over, pretty tasty, nice body, firm arse and one thing did enter my mind…"

"Go on," smiled Gary a cheeky grin in his eye.

"I thought to myself…does he have a sister?" she laughed.

"Not much further, there's a lovely little café just down the road from here, I've been going there for years," said Tony. "Not been in lately though, usually driving the area car you see."

"So you're an area car driver?" Rob asked.

"Yeah when Taviner's not in the hot seat. You might remember him, the mouthy scouser?"

"Oh yeah, the Kop Kojak," replied Rob.

Tony laughed. "That's one way of describing him, yeah."

"Yoo-hoo Mister Stamp!" a lone female voice screeched out from behind the policemen. Tony paused on the spot; it was as if you could see his blood literally freezing. Rob turned around and found himself looking at a young woman in her early 20's wearing a dark blue PVC police uniform. The top was low cut, coupled with a mini-skirt, thigh length boots and a nametag reading '_Sgt Sexy'_. She had long strawberry blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and only kept in check by a large peaked cap that covered her eyes.

"Girlfriend, Tony?" Rob asked with a broad grin. "Who's the Lolita?"

"Rob, meet Trisha Topliss, some of the local colour," Tony replied outstretching his hand.

"Rob? Funny name for a copper innit? Say again though I went with an old Bill once, I say old he was like 40 or somethin' but he went on the thieve a lot. Like me outfit lads wooo!" Trisha spun around showing off her various curves. "The punters love it, even got me own 'andcuffs, not on me 'course got a bloke in 'em upstairs."

"Still renting that flat above the bookies then?" Tony asked.

"Yeah Mum threw me out on me again," she replied. "Ali took me in, top babe that she is."

"Hold on, you've left a bloke up there?" Rob asked.

"Yeah 'e's fine, likes it, don't even need me there the weirdo just likes being tied up so's I came out 'ere for a quick fag, you guys want one?" she offered her packet around after removing one. Both officers courteously refused.

"You always wear this get-up?" Rob asked.

"Na, just this week, last week I was a nurse, week before that trolley dolly, week before that cavegirl, week before that…" she recalled.

"Trisha's a bit theatrical" Tony interrupted "she went to drama school."

"A theme tom then. Seen everything now," Rob retorted. "Still with a name like Topless the job options would be very limited."

"Its spelt with an 'I'," Trisha replied indignantly.

"Its true an all, Liss not Less. Her sister works up in the City a legal secretary or something. I met her once, changed her name of course."

"While Trish just adapted I suppose," Rob sniggered.

"I'm a very adaptable girl, Constable," she smiled back slowly undoing her top "and as a fellow officer of the law I can let you inspect my briefs for a reduced price." She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder and moved it slowly down his coat. Rob grabbed her hand at its base and threw it away hard.

"No thanks!" he said sternly and headed off down the street without saying a word to either of them.

"Trisha!" Tony shouted.

"What? What did I do? I am legal y'know I'm over 18 too and I ain't got the clap if that's what your thinkin'. It was only a bit of fun, he shouldn't be in the job if he can't take a joke!" she protested but it fell on deaf ears.

"Go and check on your punter!" Tony added. Trisha gave him a blank look but one could see the thought trickling into her head as the words unjumbled to make sense. Her eyes lit up as if a bulb had been switched on. Several puffs of smoke could also be seen swirling from the top window so Trisha stamped out her cigarette on the street, flung open the door and raced as fast as she could, or however fast her spiked heels would allow, up the stairs. Tony Stamp ran back to his partner's side and endeavoured to find out what had sparked his departure.

"All units from Sierra Oscar," the radio crackled into action carrying Matt Boyden's voice to the relief, "burglary reported at 52 Dorrell Road, any unit free to deal?"

"Sierra Oscar 2, Sarge, we're only ten minutes away," Gemma replied into her radio eager for some action.

"Good girl, the informant is a Mrs Jennifer Sloman, she's the homeowner," he replied.

Just over five minutes later the van turned up outside the given address. A grumpy looking pregnant blonde woman stood outside the door wearing a hot pink cardigan, white T-shirt and black trousers. She was breathing deeply and rubbing her stomach, a ritual she stopped as soon as she saw the van. The two Constables disembarked from the van and walked up to the door passing through a garden filled with broken engine parts and parched grass.

" '_Ground Force_' would wave the white flag if they ever came round here," muttered Gary.

"You have a squad for crap lawns now do you?" the woman replied.

"No, it's a TV programme, Alan Titchmarsh," replied Gary.

"I know it is, dopey. You two were quick," she added.

"We aim to please, I'm PC Osbourne and this is PC Best from Sun Hill," Gemma said.

"Pity you didn't get here a couple of hours earlier. I'm Mrs Sloman, Jennifer, by the way, you'd better come through," she ushered them in. "Excuse the mess especially that pile of old clothes and after-shave on the sofa, that's my husband, Kevin."

A large man lay slumped on a plush brown sofa watching a football match on TV. The game attracted Gary like a moth to a nightlight.

"What's the score, mate?" he asked turning his attentions to the box.

"Nil-Nil so far," Kevin replied.

"I must apologise for my colleague, years ago they took away his brain and replaced it with a football and a couple of acorns," Gemma said sarcastically.

"I'm familiar with the procedure already," Jennifer retorted and both had a quick laugh.

"So what happened here?" Gemma asked. In front of her stood a set of patio doors leading out into a small garden. One of the doors was smashed to pieces and the glass fragments on the carpet indicated to her that this was the method of entry, a couple of broken fence posts in the garden supported the theory.

"We came back from my mother's, went to take her some shopping and that, and it was all this when we got in. We were only out for a couple of hours max too."

"Anything taken at all?" Gemma asked.

"Not much to take really, love," Jennifer replied.

"Telly and the DVD are still 'ere," shouted Kevin from the sofa.

"Yeah I know all about that don't I! Wouldn't notice if I had been nabbed would ya as long as that thing stays!" Jennifer retorted.

"Mrs Sloman," Gemma stopped the wife from marching through the kitchen and over to her errant husband. "Could you just tell me if anything was taken please?"

"My jewellery box has been emptied. Not much of it mind you due to that tight git over there but I did have a couple of really nice gold necklaces, 3 sovereign rings, oh and one with a large ruby, false of course God forbid I should have anything expensive, but it was my late Gran's. Look for her initials I.W, Ida White, inscribed on the top," Jennifer explained with occasional glances towards her husband.

"Any ideas who might have done this?" Gemma continued with one eye on her own partner, Gary, who was leaning back on the arm of the sofa with his back to her engrossed in the match. Nothing exciting was obviously happening as neither had uttered so much as a peep since the officers had been present.

Jennifer winced in pain, rubbing her stomach hard. She staggered to a stool by the breakfast bar and sat down, the stress of the case was obviously getting to her.

"Are you alright, Mrs Sloman?" Gemma asked.

"Yeah I'll be fine, just gotta calm down that's all, love," she replied. "Lemme think for a minute, well that Carl Trent and his gang have been hanging around here recently. We rarely leave the house these days, Kev won't let me because of the baby." She patted her stomach again. " 5 months gone you see. So whoever did it must've been watching the place, can't think of anyone else but then it could be any number of the urchins that walk these streets. Might even be a chancer."

"249 to Sierra Oscar. Attention required to one Carl Trent wanted in connection with the Dorrell Road burglary. Over," Gemma reported.

"All received, cheers Gemma," Matt replied.

"Is that your name? Gemma?" Jennifer asked.

"Only one I've got," the PC replied.

"What about 'im?" she indicated towards her partner.

"He's been called many names in his time but we mainly use Gary."

"Bloke on the radio?"

"Sergeant Boyden, Matthew," Gemma replied a little bemused. "Why do you ask?"

"Been trying to think of a name for this one," Jennifer patted her stomach again. "Don't know the sex yet so we just keep asking everyone at the moment," she giggled, "Gemma's nice though, traditional too, I like it."

"Nowt wrong with Gary!" a protest came from the sofa.

"Not what the station gossip says," smiled Gemma.

"I've said that, Gary's a good name," Kevin replied.

"My child is not going to be named after some football player," Jennifer shouted back "he only likes it because Gary's one of the Neville brothers! 'Ere I've just twigged, you're both from Manchester aren't you? What are you on some Police exchange program or something?"

"I think we should be going now, Mrs Sloman," Gemma said trying to get out of the house. Her 'action' had suddenly got dull and she was eager to join in the chase for Carl Trent. Upon backing out she hit her elbow on a saucepan which was sitting atop a pile in the sink. Several bowls, plates and cutlery with decaying food still in them. She rubbed her limb to ease the pain and still edged towards the exit.

"I'm sorry about all that, Gemma," Jennifer apologised. "I did all the cooking yesterday." She turned to he husband and yelled, "I don't see why I should have to wash up too!"

"I helped to cook!" Kevin protested.

"You weighed the cheese!"

"500 grams," he smiled.

"Don't ever get married, Gemma!"

As the couple began to row again Gemma quickened her pace towards the door.

"Gary, c'mon," she ushered her partner.

"Aww I'm watching this now, just a couple more minutes, eh," he replied sulkily.

"You can listen to it on the radio in the van."

"It's not the same though."

Gemma grabbed the remote and jabbed at the large red 'OFF' switch, killing all the noise in the room instantly.

"Hey, what did you do that for!" Kevin shouted.

"Cos she's got more guts than me that's for sure, she wouldn't put up with all your crap day in day out!" Jennifer shouted back.

"Public service, sir, Arsenal were about to score. Right! If both of you could come down to Sun Hill Station and make statements within the next couple of days please. A list of everything that's missing would be helpful too, no missing 'Mona Lisa's' on there to swindle the insurance man with either." She took a card out of her pocket and placed it on the table. "There's my card so please call and ask for me or PC Best if you have any questions or remember anything else."

She opened the door with force and marched out, her partner scurrying behind her still in a sulk.

"What was all that about?" Tony asked his new partner. "Trisha might be a bit of a drama queen but she's harmless, you don't have to talk to her like that."

"Sorry, guess I'm not that used to… her sort of girl," he replied " They're more up front than the ones I'm used to, just another aspect about this place I have to get jiggy with."

"New challenge."

"Yeah, new challenge. So is starting your life all over again when your wife decides she's had enough of you," he added mournfully.

"I'm sorry, must be terrible," consoled Tony.

"Anyway, new challenge," he replied. The two Constables barely talked after that as they walked further on down the street pausing only to take Sergeant Boyden's message about the burglary, suspects and items taken. About ten minutes after Tony stopped outside a small café and starred casually into the window. Ducking out of sight quickly he beckoned Rob back to him.

"Fancy making your first arrest in Her Majesty's Metropolitan Police Service?" he smiled. "In there sits Carl Trent and the rest of his cronies."

"The Dorrell Road burglary guy?"

"The very same. Thirsty work this y'know, fancy a cuppa?" Tony added with a grin.

"Mouth like the bottom of a budgie's cage," Rob said with a similar smile. The two officers walked casually into the café but even the sight of their uniforms sent a ripple of mild panic throughout the establishment. Men moved from seat to seat, packages were hidden and eyes scurried into every corner searching for exits, hiding places or signs of other Police officers. Practically every person in the place had been present at a raid one time or another.

"Wonderful effect isn't it, PC Stamp. We walk in and the place is instantly spotless. Kim and Aggie couldn't do better," announced Rob.

"It's a shame all the good citizens of Sun Hill aren't as environmentally minded as our friends in here, PC Weston," Tony continued. "Isn't it a shame, Carl?"

He walked over to a table containing 3 youths all in their early twenties, two men and a woman. Tony approached one; a white male dressed in a grey hooded top with '_Eminem_' written across it.

"Whatever," he growled.

"This is Carl," Tony introduced the man to Rob, "and his fellow layabouts, Joey Peters and Tracey Chatham." He referred respectively to a black man dressed in a similar hooded top, tucking into a full English breakfast which looked like it had enough grease to oil a Multi-Storey's worth of cars, and a white female with her dirty blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, wearing a white tracksuit and examining a large gold ring with a ruby sticking out the top of it.

"Where were you around 11am this morning, Carl?" asked Tony. Several patrons began to exit the café once the officers had found their quarry. Rob was too busy doing a check via his radio to notice.

"At home watching '_This Morning_'," Carl smiled.

"Nowhere near Dorrell Road by any chance?"

"That shithole? No way, mate" came the sulky reply.

"Hi I'm PC Weston, I'm new to these parts," Rob introduced himself with a cheesy grin, took a gentle hold of Tracey's hand and examined the ring.

"Nice bit of bling, where did you get it?" he asked.

"Carl give it me. Nice innit," she grinned, obviously proud of Carl and her new trinket.

"Stop bashin' your gums, bitch," Carl growled.

"What's going on, man?" Joey asked.

"It's cool, they ain't got nothing," Carl replied.

"Tracey your real name? Only these aren't your initials," Rob continued pointing to the inscription. Tracey looked crestfallen once she checked the ring.

"This ain't for me is it?" she roared at Carl, small tears in her eyes, "You meant to give it to that slag Caroline Crane didn't you!"

"I suddenly believe all those newspaper reports about falling literacy skills," sighed Rob, "Look at it, Trace, its says I.W if you look!"

"Is that one of the ones we're after?" Tony asked.

"Certainly is. Looks like it's a cell made for three," Rob nodded, "Tom, Dick and Harriet."

"This ain't nothing to do with me," Joey stood up and started to walk away but Rob caught his arm, "We'll be the judge of that. Actually the judge will but you get the idea."

"I can't get done for this, man," he protested "I've already got a one years suspended hanging over me."

"Do you know who my dad is?" Carl shouted at Rob while Tony radioed for back up. Tracey stayed in her seat, quiet as a dormouse, radiating a worried look.

"Don't worry," Tony reassured her. "You're free to go, we don't think you're involved."

"I'm taking a guess its not Prince Phillip, nearer Jim Royle. Am I right?" he replied sarcastically.

"Nearer Reggie Kray," Carl snarled back "and when he finds out 'is boy is being fitted up he'll be well mad. You porkys won't know what hit ya!"


	3. Canteen Gossip

The CAD room at Sun Hill Police Station receives thousands of messages per day. Some are of grave importance whilst others are a waste of time but once in a while an officer radio's in a message which sends shock waves around the building. The death of WDC Viv Martella in 1993 was one, the stabbing of PC Dave Quinnan in 1999 was another, while the most recent was the brutal murder of PC 518 Cassandra Rickman at the hands of the Sun Hill serial killer. PC Nick Klein relayed that particular message when he found her corpse at the riverside. For a station in mourning it was a surprise to hear 'Cass' back on the air again.

"Sierra Oscar from 518, request a list of all items stolen in the Dorrell Road burglary earlier today, over."

It wasn't her voice of course, not her shrill, bouncy scrouse brogue, but a male voice containing the downbeat patter of PC Rob Weston although it caused most of the officers listening to their radios to reflect on events for a moment. From the individual members of the relief on the ground, through the Inspector in her office right up to the Superintendent and those members of CID who had their handsets switched on. For some it was nothing new however they were used to dead officers being 'resurrected' with many a change in sex or accent. Soon enough the number would become synonymous with its new owner but in the beginning the memories would begin to resurface. One thing was for sure though: it would definitely spark off a discussion at refs.

"It sent a chill right down the back of my spine," said Kerry "That number should not have been reassigned so soon, I'm going to put in a complaint with Superintendent Okaro!" Various officers were gathered in the canteen getting whatever refreshments they required to make it through the next portion of their shift.

"Actually, Kerry it either sends a chill up your back or down your spine, you can't feel a chill in your spine its pure bone, see," chipped in Reg.

"Thanks, Dr Ross," she retorted sarcastically.

"Will the both of yous stop bein' so wet," cut in Des "A number's a bleedin' number it doesn't make any difference, it's the person underneath that'll screw ya if you're not careful! That's what I wanna know, if I can trust the blert and if he'll buy us a pint at the end of the shift."

"Sun Hill has a history of recycling numbers, at least a third of all officers here today have a number that belonged to someone else. Take Ruby for instance," added Reg taking a bite of his sandwich.

"What?" the probationer asked.

"Well 988 has been used previously. Before you took it over it was…er," he hesitated slightly. "Eddie Santini's," he quickly sipped his tea and looked around at a sea of blank faces.

"Who's he?" inquired Ruby, asking the question that was on most of their minds.

"Dear, dear how soon they forget, eh, tch. He was here a few years ago, a little notorious in his time was Eddie," Reg continued.

"Wait a sec, was 'e that bloke what killed that old prosi?" Des interjected. Ruby looked horrified.

"Yes, Jess Orton was her name, but he was found innocent remember."

"Yeah, also found dead on 'is floor I remember. Gave Vicky Hagen a good seeing to as well didn't 'e. rather 'im than me I'll tell you that much!" Des added.

"What happened to him?" Ruby probed further.

"No, he's not around anymore, as Des said, he was found dead shortly after the trial," Reg explained.

"Probably of frostbite."

"Shut up, Des, give your mouth a rest!" Kerry interrupted.

"He was shot actually, Des, we never found who did it though," Reg continued, trying not to alarm Ruby but found it hard not to with Des' various interruptions plus the cold hard facts of the case.

"Oooh so it's cursed your number's up, Rube, you might even get possessed. Reg'll have to do an exorcism like in the film and you'll be shootin' pea soup out of ya nostrils," Des joked waving his hands trying to indicate a ghostly presence.

Ruby looked a little phased but put a brave face on it.

"I don't care, it doesn't mean anything anyway, it's only a number."

"Yeah a dead man's digits eh and what if 'e wants them back. Woooo."

"A number can't be cursed, Des, its silly superstition that's all," she replied definitively.

"You shouldn't be so quick to dismiss it, Ruby," Honey Harman added. "Certain numbers can have lucky or unlucky properties. Number seven for example is commonly thought to be very lucky while thirteen you just shouldn't touch."

"James Dean 'ad a car once, poor sod crashed it and died. Now whoever else took possession of it 'ad bad luck too, all came to a sticky end they did," Des added again.

"Yeah, just like that," Honey continued "even objects can have good or bad karma attached to them. A cousin of mine bought a new hairdryer once she swore was cursed. Split ends the works, every time, gave it away to the local Oxfam in the end."

"An 'aunted 'airdryer is not the same thing."

"That's very interesting, Honey, yeah, certain can have quite serious connotations. Take 416 for example now the first person I knew to hold that was young Ken Melvin, died tragically in an IRA car bomb right outside this very nick in 1990 and then of course there was poor Sam Harker last year, right above our 'eads," Reg said.

"Proper little boom town we live in isn't it. Sure it's just not this place that's bad luck."

"Des, that's a terrible thing to say. An IRA bomb in Sun Hill, Reg? Seriously?" asked Honey.

"Yeah, the yard wouldn't be half the size it is now without that thing going off," he continued.

" I'm going back to work!" stated Ruby getting up and walking away.

"Urgh, I won't be able to go out there again now, thanks for that!" Kerry protested.

"You didn't even go through it," mused Reg to himself " y'know the more I think about it that number might be cursed. I feel sorry for whoever winds up with it next."

Tony approached the table with a tray of food in his hands.

"Afternoon all, anything interesting going on?" he asked.

"We were just discussing numerology, Tony, y'know, numbers which can be good or bad luck for the holder," Reg replied.

"Is this about Rob Weston again? Why can't you just leave it alone," he retorted " it's not the poor bloke's fault he got saddled with Cass's number and sent to this nick."

"Where is the man of the hour anyway?" Des asked.

"Booking in Carl Trent and Joey Peters for that burglary. He's alright really, need a pop culture dictionary to keep up with him some of the time though."

"Cass's number?" Nick Klein stood behind the table.

Nobody said a word in response.

"Nick, where have you been?" Kerry asked.

"Overslept!" he replied immediately although his eyes told everyone that looked into them that he had been doing anything but sleeping. "Now will someone kindly tell me what's going on?"

"New guy started today."

"Kerry!" warned Honey.

"No! He deserves to know," she replied in defiance.

"Why does 'e 'deserve to know', so what, e's gonna find out sooner or later. The lad's no Trigger!" Des added.

"I'm deaf, dumb and blind so what's going on? What is he a West Ham fan or something?" he joked back.

"The idiots up at the Home Office have reassigned Cass'' epaulette number," Kerry continued.

"518."

"Bingo."

"You alright, Nick?" Sergeant June Ackland carried a tray from the counter and took up a position on the next table. "You look very pale."

"I'm good, Sarge," he replied flatly.

"If you're still sick you should go home. I'll square it with the Inspector if you like," she added.

"Thanks but I've got to go now, got to get back," he replied, rushed past the rest of the tables and past the queue. Sweat ran from his brow like a dripping tap as he burst through the double doors of the canteen. In his rush he barged past several other officers including Rob Weston who had just entered.

"Watch out!" he shouted but Nick didn't pay any attention to him. Rob felt nervous about entering the canteen after the frosty reception he had in the parade room. For that reason he steered clear of scolding the young man who had just pushed past him, making a scene now might enflame his already volatile situation. If it continued after a few weeks though then the man would not know what hit him.

"Well done, blondie, you just set off a tub of fireworks that Guy Fawkes would've been proud of!" Des noted.

"You get those two booked in alright?" Tony shouted over to Rob with his mouth full of peas.

Rob walked over feeling that all eyes were upon him.

"Yeah, Kevin and Perry all tucked up safe and sound," he replied.

"See what I mean," muttered Tony to the others. "Well grab yourself a tray of something and I mean that literally because no-one knows what the hell it is."

"Yeah I know the sort, sandwiches which would've tasted better with some actual sand in them, that sort of thing. The local pub back in Woking did a roaring trade come refs back at our nick."

"Don't invite him over here!" hissed Kerry.

"Why not he seem like a nice bloke," June replied. "Remember your first day at a new station, honestly I don't know what's happened to you lately, Kerry."

"Just bad company, Sarge," she replied tartly.

"We are all cut up about Cass, Kerry. Grief is not exclusive to you, or Nick, for that matter." She replied, talking over the tables.

"It's just that number…"

"Which would've been reassigned sooner or later anyway. This isn't the first time this has happened, just look at Des," June added calmly and quietly.

"What about me?" the scouser said in surprise.

"Well when Luke first quit the Met you were given his old call sign, 432."

"You wha…!"

Kerry cracked a smile for the first time that day but kept it a little hidden.

"That's complete bollards!"

"Its true," replied Tony. "Taviner and Ashton – separated at birth. Who would've thought it," he smiled.

"C'mon Reg we're off!" Des got up from the table and stormed out of the room throwing half a ham and cheese sandwich down onto his plate.

"Now you've done it, he'll be grumpy until the end of the shift," Reg sighed and quickly followed his partner out the door.

"Uh-oh trouble in paradise for the top team," Tony remarked.

"We better be going too, c'mon Honey," Kerry stood up.

"Kerry, my doors always open if you want to talk sometime," June offered.

"Really Sarge? All mine seem to be closing lately. I can handle this on my own anyway, you just wouldn't understand!" she added coldly, walking away from the table.

"Experience doesn't seem to count for much these days," Tony said quietly to June. "We're just dinosaurs who don't understand how they feel. There's too much of that around, everyone's concerned with their pain and their pain alone."

"That's what you reckon when you're young though, Tony, the world's all yours and you are the first one to step out into it wide eyed and bushy tailed. Your perfect career is all lined up and waiting for you around the corner along with your perfect partner and a nice little love nest where no one will ever age or get bored. For some it works out but for the majority of people they just have to settle and along the way life throws these little things in our paths just to spice things up like the death of friends, family and colleagues."

"Are you alright, June?" he asked. "Don't tell me all this has got to you too."

"I realised something the other day, Tony, it's been ten years since Viv was shot. Did you know that?" she admitted moving onto a seat closer to him.

"Really? Ten years, it slipped my mind. At the time I thought that would be the only memory which would never leave me."

"I certainly won't forget taking the call, one of the hardest things I've had to do in this job, I dare say it was the same for you, holding her in your arms while back-up arrived knowing that she was…" she stalled quietly, a tear in her eye.

"There, there, I know what you mean, you don't have to go through it all again," he comforted.

"I'll never forget what happened a few years later though," she recalled, sitting up, " It was around 96/97, I hadn't been a Sergeant long, I know that much. I was seconded to Spicer Street, they had a Sergeant suspended over a corruption allegation, you remember John Hall at all?"

"No, not really."

"Me neither, I think they found him innocent in the end. Anyway they had a WPC there Beth, Beth something, Earnshaw that was it; she was a probationer at the time a bright young twenty-something, which made me feel old at the time. She had been assigned a number…" her voice trailed off.

"Did you tell anyone? You know you could've come to me or Jim, Sergeant Cryer or anyone."

"I nearly did, I mean its not as if Viv had recently used it she spent the last three years of her life up in CID. I spent most of my time on nights in the CAD room and had to hear 221 calling every few hours for every night of that week, one of the longest I've ever spent it was. Once I got back home I sobbed silently into my pillow every morning," her voice started to trail off again as she casually wiped her eyes trying not to be too conspicuous.

"I had no idea," Tony empathised, putting his arm briefly around her shoulder. " Maybe we could get together sometime later this week: you me, Jim and Reg just the old ones just to raise a glass in Viv's memory.

"I'll think about it, thanks Tony it's a lovely idea. You're the first person I've ever told that to," she finished off her tea still with a brief tear in her eye. She had the look of somebody with such a stiff upper lip that it would probably crack once she was alone, maybe later up in CSU or back home. She stood up and glanced at a pack of female PC's in the canteen queue laughing and giggling with each other. "Back to work I suppose," she added. " I guess that's one of the reasons while I'll always offer the Kerry Youngs of this station a shoulder to cry on and why it hurts so much when they throw it all back in my face. But then again I wouldn't know what they're going through would I?" she walked away with a twinge of sarcasm and regret in her voice.

Rob swiftly took her place.

"You'd think rationing was back in the amount of people there was in that queue, didn't miss much did I?" he asked.

"No, nothing."

"Now it seems no one wants to sit with me either, they've all had it away on their toes. Thanks for being a mate, Tony," he added.

"Just finish up, quick as you can, we've got an interview to do," Tony replied flatly and thoughtfully, sipping the last of his tea.


	4. Interview with Carl Trent

"Interview with Carl Trent. Officers present are PC Tony Stamp and…"

"…PC Rob Weston alias the new boy."

"Mr Trent," Tony started " has been arrested for burglary and has refused his right to a solicitor."

"Don't need no one stickin' up for me, I can fight you lot on own y' get me," Carl replied.

"Not when you talk silly like that, no," Rob sneered.

"Mr Trent," interrupted Tony, "Where were you at around 11am this morning?"

"About," he answered calmly.

"About where? The park? The Brookvale centre? Outer Mongolia?" added Rob.

"The mean streets of Sun Hill, man, my home turf," he replied.

"The mean streets? Do me a favour you were born in Chalk Farm remember not Chicago. Where were you, Carl?" Tony interjected.

"My dad 'ere yet?" Carl asked.

"Not yet but he has been notified of your arrest," replied Tony.

"He'll sort this all out, you'll see," Carl said confidently, crossing his arms.

"Big time gangster needs his dear old dad," continued Rob.

" 'Dear old dad' would shoot you down bang bang with one word from me," Carl sneered back.

"This is detracting from the point, Carl, where were you?" Tony tried to bring the interview back on track.

"Down on D-street, Dorrell Road."

"Finally an answer. Ok, Ali G, was Joey Peters there with you?" Rob continued.

"Nowhere near, I was seein' a piece of ass I know, met Jo-Jo and Trace later."

"This lady friend live anywhere near the Slomans at number 52? Assuming it is a lady that is…"

"I ain't no batty boy! I 'ate them freaks," Carl started getting annoyed.

"Interesting. Any gay bashings in the area recently, PC Stamp?" Rob smiled.

"Reign it in, PC Weston ," Tony warned him. Rob seemed to have taken notice although it seemed to him like he was in the middle of a shootout and he had to fire off a few rounds to be respected.

"This lady have a name so we can check?" he continued.

"Got so many it's hard to keep track," Carl smiled.

"Ok Prince Charming, what number does this Cinderella live at then?" Rob asked.

"Can't remember."

"I'm going to come straight to the point, did you break in to 52 Dorrell Road?" Tony asked.

"Yeah ok, what the hell I did it," Carl admitted, seeming bored with all the questions despite the glee he took in winding the two officers up.

"Why did you do it? For the money?"

"Dunno, it was something to do."

"That's it? For fun!" added Rob, his voice raising slightly.

"Dunno," he replied simply.

"What did you take from the house," Tony asked.

"Some bits of cheap bling, nothing top."

"Which you intended to do with…?"

"Give to my bitch. Was 'er birthday last week and I forgot. I like to keep 'em 'appy."

"She is a woman, not a bitch, speak proper English please," Rob retorted.

"So what, sounds like Trace, she is a bit of a mutt," he laughed " My dad 'ere yet?"

"You care about her enough to remember her birthday then."

"My other slapper had this appointment for the Docs ringed on 'er calendar, made me remember, so what."

"So re-establishing the facts for the tape. You broke into the house of Mr and Mrs Kevin Sloman of 52 Dorrell Road. You crashed through the back door, went through all their things, maybe tried on a few of the misses clothe s while you where at it…" Rob began.

"Hey!" Carl cried out.

"PC Weston!" Tony warmed.

"…drank milk from the fridge and left the top off the toothpaste, stuff like that. You do all this and cause this much distress to the homeowners just for a few cheap bits of jewellery that you gave to someone who means so little to you that you refer to her as a canine, you could have gone into any shop on the high street and yet you choose to crack open someone's door and take it that way. And all for what!" he continued, his voice growing louder.

"Because I can. What's it matter anyway if the bitch is stupid enough to wear it she's the one what gets lifted!" Carl smiled.

"Right little charmer aren't you!"

"Interview terminated at 13:12," Tony said quickly.

"I don't know how they interview people in Surrey but in the Met that's certainly not how it's done!" Tony scolded.

"It's how they do it on the telly," Rob replied.

"Did this happen in Woking?"

"Sort of. I was given an unofficial warning and kicked off all interviews for a month last year. I thought that down here it would be different, more acceptable, London, the big city, Reagan and Carter and all that. You saw how he was, right little snot bag!" Rob protested.

"Just tone it down next time or we'll both be in the brown stuff and I warn you Inspector Gold is no pussycat," Tony added.

"Point take, it's a leaning curve," Rob replied.

The two sat in BIU discussing the interview. Carl had been taken back to his cell immediately awaiting both formal charges and his father to arrive to try and sort the whole thing out. Tony was sitting behind a desk with a computer in front of him starring at Carl's criminal record up to that point glaring out from the monitor.

"So what are the chances of him going down? What's his form like?" Rob asked.

"I could reel it off from the top of my head but you can have a butcher's for yourself if you want, record longer that a 'Pink Floyd' concept album. Petty thieving and demanding money with menaces mostly," Tony grumbled.

"What about dear old dad, his 'Mr Fixit'?"

A smile crept across Tony's face as he tipped his head and leaned back in the chair.

"Ever heard of Jerry Trent?" he replied.

"Only Jerry Trent I can think of is the armed robber. The big Lonsdale Bank job in Hammersmith back in the Seventies. Jerry ' The Doorman' Trent, him," Rob said with a laugh, not expecting a nod of recognition. "Seriously? Wow, first day in London and I get to meet a real East End legend."

"Wait until tomorrow when we go hunting for Ronnie and Reggie," Tony smiled.

"As long as I get to meet Lord Lucan within the week then I'm happy," Rob laughed back. "I suppose he's going to show up, bail sonny-boy and we'll never see him again."

Sergeant Sheelagh Murphy entered the room with a clipboard in her hand and a stern, stressed look on her face.

"You two still here?" she asked.

"Waiting for the infamous Jerry Trent, Sarge," Tony replied with glee.

"Did you not hear? Mr Trent is away on business and isn't going to make it until tomorrow morning, Carl will have to stew in his cell for a night," she told them.

"Give us a chance to finish off some paperwork then," Rob said eagerly.

"Shouldn't we get back out on the streets? We can do that lot later on," complained Tony.

"Best get it all done and out of the way now, time is time, Tony. We'll spend the same amount of time doing it anyway whether it's right now or at the end of the shift."

A voice from outside called Sheelagh back to the custody suite.

"I'm being paged, carry on with your paperwork but I want you two back out by three o'clock, ok," she ordered, grabbed some sheets of paper from one of the desks and left the room.

"Never met a copper who wanted to do paperwork, not in all my years. You sure you were never in CID?" Tony asked, taking out his notebook and starting to sift thorough the forms.

"Tried out for it once."

"No luck?"

"Still in the blue tuxedo aren't I?" Rob replied soberly. He looked away and started to fill in one of the forms in front of him, barely looking up. Tony made another attempt to talk.

"Perhaps you could try out again some day, never too late, that's what they say, " he said apologetically.

"They won't have me now, mate, I'm 34 so that's seen as virtually pushing 40 and they only want the young guns. I'll be stuck in uniform for the rest of my service, you'll see," he added, sounding a little defensive and still not looking up from his work. "I wonder about what could've been sometimes though but now its just another dream that's faded away."

Tony woke up with a start; the bright lights of the monitor had a hypnotic effect after a while, a product of both the modern and his own middle age. He had only dozed off for a minute or two but not much had changed people still passed the window on their various businesses and Rob was still morosely hunched over his desk scribbling away. The clock on the wall told the time as 3.05pm but it had been half an hour slow ever since New Year and no-one had bothered to put it right although everyone knew about the time difference, everyone except Rob that is. Tony sensed an opportunity to get away from the dreaded forms.

"Woah, look at the time, better get our skates on," Tony smiled tapping Rob on the arm and getting up from his seat. His partner looked at the clock, leapt to his feet and hurriedly tidied his papers away ready for future completion.

As they walked towards the Custody Suite they viewed the rather odd sight of a teenager dressed in a white apron holding a clear plastic tub containing food.

"This is quite the modern nick. Prisoners allowed to order takeaway now are they?" asked Rob cheerily.

"That smells delicious, what is it?" Tony asked.

"Lasagne, finest meat and tomatoes smothered in a creamy cheese sauce. At least that what the recipe says, made by me own fair hand too," he replied with a smile. Inside the tub a generous helping of lasagne stood firm on a small china plate accompanied by a knife, fork and set of condiments.

"Against the rules I'm afraid," said Sergeant Murphy from behind the desk. "Prisoners aren't allowed food brought in."

"This isn't for Trent is it?" Rob inquired.

"Special delivery," the teen answered.

"What a waste," Tony grumbled. "Like chucking good grub down the toilet!"

"You might as well do because it's not coming anywhere near my cells!" Sheelagh said defiantly.

"I think its nice, Sarge, sort of like a last meal innit before he gets sent away, " said PC Hadleigh, Sheelagh's jailer.

"Last meal? Natasha, he's a thug facing a year of peace for burglary. We don't seek the death penalty for breaking and entering in this country just yet," Sheelagh replied.

"I have to be back at the café soon now, do you people want this or not?" demanded the teen. "Mr Trent said in case of his arrest he would like one last meal from the Café before his sentence begins. Has he even been charged yet because if you're letting him go I can return and give this to some paying customers? Don't ask me the details, my boss made them all ages ago."

"Go on, Sarge, better than the food in the canteen and the slop they serve in prison," Natasha chipped in.

"Alright but I want it searched and tasted first," Sheelagh relented with a half smile.

"Volunteer!" Tony said immediately, licking his lips. "It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it."

"No, No, No now back out, please. You two have been in cluttering up the floor for long enough. Away with yous!" Sheelagh ordered.

"C'mon Keith Floyd, I'll buy you a cheese sandwich on the way," added Rob.

"Barely a replacement," Tony grumbled as they walked out the door and into the yard.

"Time for the changing of the guard!" laughed Sergeant Gordon, striding up to the custody desk with military precision.

"The dungeon's all yours," Sheelagh replied, wiping the sleep from her eyes. PC Hadleigh was at her side lazily filling in the crossword puzzle from a glossy magazine.

"Up for some fish and chips, Sarge?" she asked.

"Try and stop me, I have a hungry husband at home. Did you finish that all in the end?" she replied looking at the magazine.

"One left, six down, four letters. Something 'Grant' starred in 'North by Northwest'? Could be 'Hugh'?"

"It isn't, it's 'Cary', 'Cary Grant'," answered Sheelagh. "Have you never heard of him? I just don't know what the world's coming to!"

"Yeah, its fits! Brill," she said excitedly filling in the answer.

"Take a look around, Mark, survey our domain," Gordon ordered, in his thick Scottish brogue, to his young PC who sped off in the direction of the cells. He picked up a clipboard and looked it over. "Well, well, well, Carl Trent, there's a bad penny if I ever saw one. I knew the father too and have the grey hairs to prove it," he laughed, brushing back the hair behind his ears.

"You'll get the chance for a reunion then, he's coming to bail out the lad in the morning," Sheelagh replied.

"Really? Be nice to see the old bugger again after so long. Our paths used to cross quite a lot when I worked with the Robbery Squad, tch, look at us now, eh. How's the lad shaping up?"

"A cool start moving to stroppy but finally settling down once he was fed," added Sheelagh trying her best to imitate a weather girl.

Gordon laughed again with a jolly roar.

"Sarge, Come quick! We need an ambulance!" Mark shouted.

"Can ye not deal with him yerself, I'm busy," Gordon shouted back. "What's he done, pissed his pants?"

Sheelagh dropped her bag back onto the desk and rushed through into the cellblock to add medical support, grabbing the green box on the way.

Gordon decided to follow her while Hadleigh phoned for the ambulance.

Carl Trent was lying on the floor of his cell, two legs up on the seat and the rest of his body sprawled on the ground. His eyes barely moved but he had a large grin on his face.

"He's overdosed," Sheelagh said immediately starting CPR.

"No-one was there when I looked through the 'ole," Mark said in broad cockney, "I opened the door and 'e just lolloped out in front of me. I ain't gonna get into trouble am I?"

"Go back to the front desk Marky-boy, you're all right, son," Gordon sent the Constable back but then turned his attentions to Sheelagh. "How the fucking hell did he overdose in the cell? I hope you checked him out!" he roared.

"How wet behind the ears do you think I am? Everything was done according to procedure" Sheelagh replied defiantly.

"Well there's been a fuck-up somewhere along the line, Sheelagh, and I'm damned if its going down in the records as being on my watch!" he raged.

As Sergeant Murphy continued her resuscitation Sergeant Gordon stormed through to the Custody Suite with a face like thunder ready to greet the incoming paramedics.


	5. The Next Morning

Inspector Gina Gold strode into the Parade Room the next morning with her usual air of authority.

"Before we begin the play for today I'd like to put a couple of spanners into the rumour mill. Everybody here?" she asked.

"Except Nick. Again!" Sergeant Boyden replied grumpily.

"I'll have to have a quick four letter word with that boy when he eventually shows his face. Anyway onwards and upwards. Now as you lot have doubtless heard by now we had a little incident in Custody last night when Carl Trent, a burglary suspect, overdosed in his cell. He is now recovering in St Hughes.

"What caused it, ma'am?" Reg Hollis asked, raising his hand.

"Sergeant Murphy gave him a takeaway, a favourite from the local grease factory 'Sid's Café, all containers were properly examined and a salt shaker was found to contain traces of cocaine, it must've been full to the brim of the stuff, a little teatime treat. CID are now crawling over the place much as the DPS are about to do to us so I want everything done by the book. Sergeant Murphy and PC Hadleigh have also been suspended.

A murmur shot around the room.

"Only temporary I assure you they'll be back in a few days once complaints and the bloody press have been satisfied. Needless to say I don't want to see any exclusive interviews from you lot on the front covers."

The Inspector finished her speech and handed power back to Sergeant Boyden to assign the days duties.

"Rob, Tony, you're confined to the station for today. The DPS will want to talk to you about our mystery chef, Sheelagh told us you two spoke to him briefly. CID will also want a description as there's a raid planned for this afternoon."

"We're certainly in demand today," Tony noted.

"Don't get too used to it will you," Matt replied with a smirk. "The rest of you, same as yesterday, any problems come and see me. Dismissed!"

Tony noticed his partner wasn't saying much compared to his chattier persona of yesterday as they both got up and followed the less than enthusiastic crowd towards the door.

"What up with you? Thought you'd be pleased at the thought of all day doing the paperwork," he said a little sarcastically.

"Ali G's going to get away with it isn't he? This is going to seriously muddy the waters come the trial," Rob replied.

"That's the way it goes I'm afraid. I wish there was some way we could rip the wind out of his sails now but he's more or less untouchable by us."

"There had to be some way of doing it. Jail time obviously doesn't scare him and in fact if you think about he'll be treated like a king in there anyway, criminal lineage and all that," Rob complained.

"Can go both ways. Up and comers are always on the lookout for someone that they can take down to prove they're the hardest nut in the land. Anyway, as I said, nothing we can do," Tony added.

Rob looked thoughtful considering the facts for a moment.

"We need to take down the father then, he's the reason why the lad's so cocky, having a famous dad," he concluded.

"You want to arrest Jerry Trent? What for, forged bus pass?" Tony added.

"Maybe just discredit him a little in the boy's eyes."

"We'll call Max Clifford in then."

Sergeant Gordon appeared from around the corner looking dishevelled but still distinguished, head held high like a man who had spent all night at a poker game and come home with all the winnings. His shift should've been over an hour ago but all the interviews and questions about the incident at the very beginning had kept him about. A long overdue cigarette hung from his lips, his thin black tie lay loosely around his neck and his jacket was slung over a shoulder.

"Long night, Sarge?" Tony asked.

"I've had longer and harder, Stamp. A wannabe bad-arse inhaling too much sherbet isn't about to lose me any sleep. Hello, I spot a new face in the ranks," Gordon replied with a broad smile.

"Robert Weston, Sarge," Rob introduced himself and shook the man's hand firmly.

"Ah, our new signing, yes you've been mentioned to me, laddie. 'Tis a shame you had to get mixed up with the barrel of bad apples that we call the Trents and all the crap they bring along with them during your first week. The father was a mess too but he was old school and they at least had some respect for us, once you were caught it was game over."

"You knew Jerry Trent?" Rob asked.

"Aye, arrested him a couple of times meself," Gordon replied.

"Tony, I'll catch you up. Can I ask you a couple of questions about him, Sarge?" Rob asked taking Gordon to one side.

"Breakfast better be included, full English fry-up, the works. I could eat twelve of them right now!" he replied with another grin.

"Toast or fried bread?" Rob smiled as they walked in the direction of the canteen. Tony rolled his eyes and set off for a quiet place to make yet another start on his mountain of paperwork.

Nick Klein looked feverishly at his watch, or rather where it had used to be, since he had sold it, a simple imprint of the underside of the timepiece reproduced perfectly on his skin. Sweat was continually pouring down his arms and forehead too as he marched along the corridor. Poking his head around the door of the parade room he noticed the absence of, well, everyone. Cursing himself under his breath he walked towards the Sergeants office and found Matthew Boyden buried beneath a mountain of paper.

"What am I on today, Sarge?" he asked hurriedly.

"I dread to think, Nick. Where have you been, you're late!" Matt bellowed.

"Bought an alarm clock off a market stall recently, must've been faulty its been playing up all week, I'm sorry," he offered, stumbling over his words.

"Really," noted Matt with cynicism. "This bloke must be doing a roaring trade as most of B Relief seem to have the same problem. Anyway everyone's been assigned now so you might as well catch up on some paperwork and if I were you I'd keep out of the Inspector's way she's out for your blood at the moment. You better buck up your ideas and quickly, Nick."

"Yeah, yeah," Nick sniffed with his attention waning. "See thing is, Sarge, I really wanted to be out and about today."

"Did you really? Well I wanted Cindy Crawford to sign on the dotted as a new Sergeant with a locker next to mine and adjacent to the showers but we don't always get what we want. You're on thin ice enough as it is at the moment plus the fact that we've just had a major incident here last night so shut up and do what I say! You can join Tony Stamp and Rob Weston in the Happy Club!" he ranted.

"Rob Weston's still here?" Nick said, perking up a bit. "I'll get right on it, Sarge."

He left suddenly, leaving the door half-open in his wake. As Matt pulled himself from his seat to give it a good slam he had the feeling he may have just made a bad situation even worse.


	6. Visiting Hours

Rob Weston entered the BIU room with a smug grin on his face.

"What's up with you, discovered the Inspector's secret drinks cabinet," asked Tony observing his partner's happy demeanour.

"Sergeant Gordon has been filling me in on a few choice details about Jerry 'The Doorman'. I wouldn't mind a bit more confirmation though but his record isn't likely to be anywhere around here is it?" he explained.

"Unless he's committed a crime since the Eighties it won't be, they only go back so far," Tony added soberly. "You really think there's something in it. Is it really worth going to all this trouble for?"

"I just want to suck the wind out of Carl's sails a bit, he's already got a lot of previous and now it seems he's moving up a notch. If we can boot him back down, give him something to think about, it might cause him to re-assess himself a bit at least that's what I'm hoping. Gordon said Jerry was even arrested here once so I would've thought there would be some info here somewhere. Haven't you got an archivist or some kind of collator here?"

"All went out with the Ark, mate. Casualty of the digital age," Tony replied.

"What about some kind of anal busybody who's been at this nick since the dawn of time and has virtually no social life?"

"I think I know just the person," Tony smiled.

"Back in Woking we had a bloke, Dave Smith his name was, always kept immaculate records of all the arrests he made, over 30 years worth there was. Our CAD room is the proud bearer, still to this day, of a framed speeding ticket written out to Freddie Mercury," Rob recalled wistfully.

Tony reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile and scrolled through all the names in its memory until he came to the one marked 'Reg' and pressed the green 'call' button.

"Reg? Tony here mate."

Rob looked over to the table and tried to remember which one Reg was out of the deluge of new faces he had met in the past two days.

"Where do we keep the old records? You know the BC ones, Before Computers, I want to look something up…yes I know but they only go so far back…right…well which ones…Jerry Tent…why? Erm," Tony stumbled.

"Trying to link Carl to the drugs," Robe interjected quickly.

"Jerry hasn't any form for drugs though," Tony hissed back.

"How do we know that? Our records don't go that far back, he could've been the Sixties answer to Ozzy Osbourne for all we know!"

"I thought Ozzy Osbourne was the six….yes, Reg," Tony turned back to the phone. "Good…well that's one line on inquiry yes…yes I will mention you in the report now just… you did…excellent. I owe you a drink, mate," he pressed the red 'end call' button. "Not like slamming down a proper phone receiver is it?" Tony mused, " the march of technology is not always such a good thing. Anyway it seems that Reg has already updated the system.

"Brilliant!" Rob smiled.

"Apparently the Super put him in charge of transferring a lot of the old records a while back in case they're ever needed," Tony explained as he tapped the name into the keyboard. Rob peered over his shoulder with anticipation.

"Oh," Tony read the screen, "well I never would've guessed."

Rob's face lit up, "Mr Trent still at St Hughes?" he smiled. "Visiting hours aren't over yet."

"Look just take a step back and think a moment, what good will it do. You're only going to stir up trouble and probably land the both of us in it in the process!" Tony added urgently.

"If it neuters that little scroat then its worth trying, it seems nothing else can," Rob left quickly, slamming the door. Tony reluctantly stood up from behind the desk to follow him hoping he could make him rethink before the situation became enflamed.

In his own little world, head full of thoughts about his next move, Rob rushed down the corridor and collided with another PC.

"Do you ever look where you are going!" he retorted at the man who had shaken him out and recognising him as the same person he had brushed with so abruptly in the canteen earlier that day.

"Sorry," mumbled Nick. Looking around he noticed the numbers on the man's shoulders glowing in the artificial light. The numbers, 518, flashed before his eyes and became imprinted in his vision. He flashed back to the last time he saw them as he carried Cass' body up from the riverside. For a moment he even saw her pretty smiling face standing before him, he started to sweat.

"You alright?" Rob asked.

"Not seen you here before, you on secondment or something?" Nick asked in a low growl.

"I'm new this is my second day," he replied casually. "Can we do the introductions later only I have to be somewhere."

"You're the new 518? Weston, right?" Nick continued barely hearing any answers over the parade of questions and emotions running through his head.

"Yes, and you're 140, don't know you're name though," Rob replied slowly taking the mick a bit.

"Might be best. Now listen those numbers are not yours, you shouldn't have them, take them off!" Nick demanded.

"Not my fault, mate, talk to the Home Office," Rob replied trying to push past.

"It's not right. Those are her numbers and they are the only things left of hers that belong to this station," Nick added as he approached Rob further. "They can bury her body, clear out her locker, take down every photograph and delete her from the rostas but they can't erase her fully. Her soul roams these halls and her memory lives on and that can't be taken away from me. Now I want them back!" Nick advanced and started to pull at one of Rob's lapels.

"Nick!" Tony appeared from around the corner. While Nick pulled at him the new recruit failed to put up any sort of a fight preferring instead to simply brush him off. Tony stepped in to separate the two.

"This won't bring her back," he said calmly.

"I'm not trying to, just preserve her memory. Why can't you understand that," Nick replied.

"They can't do it, Tone. They can't just replace her like that, delete her from the service like she was just nothing."

"This was bound to happen sooner or later," Tony tried to help.

"Not this soon," Nick replied

"We all miss Cass you know," Tony released Nick from his grasp causing the grieving officer to slump into a heap, his back to the wall, like his soul had just been taken from his body.

"Feelings about Cass still run high here," Tony tried to explain to his new partner.

Rob knelt down beside Nick. "I suppose my condolences don't help at all."

"Just go away," he muttered in return barely looking up from his knees.

"Tony told me all about her, I've even seen a picture, she was very pretty and so full of life too. I bet she made a great copper."

"The best."

"C'mon Nick on your feet. Let's find a place for a nice sit down," Tony pulled his colleague up from the floor and herded him in the direction of an interview room. Nick felt like a dead weight as he lumbered along the floor and finally slumped into a chair. Tony provided him with a box of tissues to wipe away the tears that were now streaming from his eyes.

"I'll go and find one of the Sergeants and get you sent home, ok? You're obviously not fit enough for duty," he tried to console him. "No-one here knows Rob that well yet, even I don't know how he'll react to this, so you'll be lucky not to end up on an assault charge by the end of the day. I'll do me best to talk him round of course."

"Don't care," muttered Nick, slumped over the desk. "My life is over anyway."

"That's the spirit," Tony added sarcastically. "You're just going through a bad patch that's all. We all deal with grief differently. I've got to go now but I'll be back later, ok. I'd better find you back home with a cup of tea and feet up in front of 'Countdown'."

"Can you tell 'im sorry from me Tony? I've not been myself lately."

"Sure, pal, take it easy," Tony said walking out of the room.

An empty corridor faced him with an exit. Rob had left, probably for the hospital again, and Tony felt torn between his loyalty for Nick, a grief stricken colleague of three years, or Rob, a fresh face which was about to stir up a pot of trouble. He understood that both were his responsibility, as he was the only one caught in the middle of it so both would have to be done. Spotting Sergeant Boyden coming down the hallway he beckoned him towards the, now occupied, interview room.

Rob looked through the windows of '_Attlee Ward_' at St Hughes hospital. Two people sat around Carl Trent's bed; both men, one was quite old wearing a beige suit with a blue open nicked shirt while the second, younger, wore a brown leather jacket, had red hair and was taking notes. The young man got up, tucked his notebook away in his jacket and headed for the door. Rob swiftly moved to the left hoping that the door would hide him, the man was probably a journalist, and his discovery would not look good. The stranger looked both ways as he left and spotted the officer guiltily standing in the shadows but his smile was the one thing Rob did not expect.

"'Allo mate," the man said in a cockney accent, "You 'ere to go through the details with 'im. Afraid I beat you too it."

"Yes, just some additional notes for the Inspector," Rob lied.

"I'm Mickey Webb by the way, one of the DC's. You're the new plod right? Wayne innit?"

"No," Rob replied haughtily.

"You sure? I'm sure it was something like that. John Wayne that's what I've got in me 'ead," Mickey looked puzzled.

"Nothing like it. I'm Rob, Rob Weston," he replied a little narked. He hated people getting his name wrong or even elongating it to 'Robert'.

"Oh right, yeah I know what I was thinking of now. Weston and Western, y'know, cowboys and Indians and all that. Sorry mate, its seems you've had a wasted journey too. Carl's 'is usual self, a cross between Tupac and Mr Bean. I just spent ten minutes with 'im trying to suss this café business out," Mickey explained.

"Get anywhere?"

"Nah, tight-lipped as ever. Most of 'em in Sun 'ill 'ave their cake-'oles permanently welded shut unless their shouting abuse at ya. Anyway I'm off back to the nick, good luck."

Mickey walked off down the corridor and Rob looked through the door again. He felt nervous about going in. Looking around him again he spotted Tony walking up the same corridor that Mickey had just left by.

"You haven't gone in yet then?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"Don't know," Rob replied plainly.

"It's not in anyone's best interests," Tony added "Do you really want to have something like this hanging over your head in your first week? I can tell you're having second thoughts about it otherwise you would've gone in by now. Let's go back and I'll buy you a cup of tea, eh,"

"Look at him in there, smiling, he'll probably get off the burglary charge too if the judge is liberal enough. It's bound to be clouded anyway by all this business and what about Sergeant Murphy anyway and Natasha Hadleigh? Two careers potentially down the drain because of him. Enough good kids OD every day, they try it just the once to see what it was like and bang out go the lights. Yet he comes back from it and all because he wanted to avoid eighteen poxy months at the most in jail."

Suddenly incensed Rob pushed through the double door entrance to the ward and marched straight up to Carl's bed.

"Afternoon Carl, feeling better?" Rob asked cockily.

"Me pillow's a bit flat," Carl replied in a similar manner.

"My boy's had a tough time, Constable, we've just had old Rusty from CID in here carrying on," the old man spoke up.

"Jerry Trent, as I live and breathe," Tony joined them at the bedside.

"Do I know you two?" Jerry asked sounding a bit puzzled.

"We just want to have a word with your son, Jerry," replied Rob.

"He's PC Weston and I'm PC Stamp. We arrested Carl for burglary yesterday. In fact I think we might've met before; I was part of the arrest team for the East Street Midland Bank job back in '76?" Tony explained.

"That's right, the two years suspended, I remember now. Not you of course but I know your guvnor DI, what was it, Waterston. What happened to him? Jerry said with a twinkle in his eye as he recalled the era.

"Long retired now. After that job he was transferred to the Yard for a while but now I think he lives in Brighton."

"That's good, he should've been behind a desk you know. Such a sensitive soul, no good for all that front line cobblers. He always wanted to live by the sea too. Did some painting didn't he? Lovely landscapes I remember he used to have hung on the walls of his office," Jerry rambled.

"You bested him though didn't you Dad, you never did time," Carl piped up.

"What was it you went down for in the end, Mr Trent? I can't remember," asked Rob slyly. Tony eyed his suspiciously.

"I was the brains behind the Lonsdale Bank Job, Hammersmith back in '78. For all that I spent 20 years at Her Majesty's and I missed my boy growing up because of that. Wouldn't buy too much these days £2 million but it was certainly a lot back then," explained Jerry. Carl looked proud.

"Only thing you was any good for, Dad," Carl said suddenly, Jerry was taken aback.

"You're going to have to work out which you want, son. A notorious heritage or 20 years worth of a proper father because you can't have it both. Either I'm a saint or a pariah to you but your poor mother always understood!" Jerry shouted. Suddenly he clutched his chest, started breathing erratically and fell backwards into his seat.

"Take it easy, Jerry," Tony said softly.

"I'll be spiffy in a few minutes," Jerry's voice sounded strained, as his breathing grew heavier and he continued clutching his chest.

"Mum was always there for me," Carl continued.

Jerry tried to stand up, "I can't have those years back, Carl but I swear to the Heavens above that I would trade anything for them so I could see you mature. But then I wouldn't have the infamy that you revel in so much and perhaps if I hadn't then things would be different." He rubbed his chest, pulling the skin too and fro as if it was putty in his hands. Rob caught him as he lunged across the bed.

"Dad, wassup?" Carl asked leaning forward.

"He's having a heart attack," Rob replied.

"No I ain't, just a bit of trouble, bit of jip that's all, clear up in a…" his voice trailed off.

"Give me a hand, Tone," Rob said, taking the lions share of the weight as he tried to lift Jerry back up.

"Some one do somethin'," Carl coughed, "Dad!"

"I think it's better to separate these two," Tony said to Rob, "Come on Jerry lets get you to a Doctor."

Tony led Jerry out and through the doors immediately flagging down one of the nurses.

"Them nurses will 'elp 'im won't they?" Carl asked.

"He's in good hands, mate," Rob replied. "You must be proud of his record."

"He was one bad-ass gangster back in the day, proper 'Sweeney' stuff," Carl smiled.

"I've seen his record y'know, its pretty long."

"Yeah?" Carl asked. " What sort of stuff did 'e do then. I know about the big blags but nothin' else."

"Pickpocket. He's got a couple charges for that, one case of arson was never proved, he left a fag burning in a public toilet and it was reduced to cinders," Rob replied.

"Not the one in Gunnershaw Road?"

"I think that was it, new to the area you see, I don't know my Gunnershaw from my elbow."

"I remember that place, used to play in all that wreckage when I was a kiddie. Took the council well long to rebuild it," Carl looked up, Rob had a strange smile on his face. He leant in closer to Carl. " We used to jump in and out of the brickwork or sit in the urinals pretending they was boats and stuff."

"He also did some petty thieving here and there, couple cases of homosexuality…"

"You're taking the piss, being a queer ain't a crime," Carl spat back.

"You have me there, Carl, it's not a crime. Well at least not since 1967. Unfortunately he has charges for it dating back to the mid-fifties," Rob said smugly.

"Nah, nah, don't believe ya," Carl started to sweat.

"What do you think he was doing in that toilet in the first place so far from home," Rob continued smoothly.

"Probably caught short I expect," Carl said sarcastically.

"He lives with your Uncle James doesn't he? Not a blood relative is he? How close do you think they are, Carl, close enough to share a bed," he added smoothly with a smile.

"Bastard!" Carl swore taking a low swing at Rob. The Constable dodged out of the way just in time and the lad thumped his bedside table sending a water jug crashing to the floor.

"You sure you want to go back in, Jerry?" Tony asked helping the old man along the corridor.

"Just had a bit of trouble that's all, I've had worse reactions to a Vindaloo on a Friday night and what's with the 'Jerry' it's Mr Trent to you, don't coppers have respect these days," he moaned.

"Respect got pushed aside in an attempt to be a more caring and personal Police Service. Apparently that means calling everyone by their first names and carting retired criminals around," Tony replied.

Jerry peered through the ward door and saw Carl take a swing at Rob and, instead, strike the bedside cupboard.

"'Ere what's your mate said to my boy!" he said to Tony pushing open the door while Carl clutched his hand.

"Tony!" Rob cried out, "Fetch one of the nurses!"

"What happened?"

"Tell you later," Rob replied hurriedly. Tony turned around and bumped into a nurse who was ferrying a trolley of meals around. He brought her through into the ward where she proceeded to examine Carl's hand and clear up the mess he made. The patient lay still and silent in his bed, barely turning over from his side or acknowledging the treatment he was being given.

"What's happened, Carl? What's 'e said?" Jerry asked frantically.

"A good question. What _have_ you said to him," Tony glared over at his partner who didn't know where to look with the expression on his face changed every second registering various degrees of pleasure, guilt and sadness in every line or tic.

"He asked about his dad's record," he replied simply.

"So you told him."

"So I told him."

"Carl, boy, what's wrong? Talk to your old dad, you've always been able to talk to me," Jerry was fussing around his son. Carl uttered a few obscenities and tried to submerge himself further in the safety of his bed. "You always do this when you're sad. Talk to me c'mon," he pleaded.

"We'll give you a ride home, Mr Trent," Tony added tugging at the man's sleeve. "It's the least we can do."

"All right, alright but I'm coming back here tomorrow," he replied grumpily. Rob's face still looked in a quandary as he left the ward.

"So how did the interview go? Must be your first time with the DPS?" Tony asked Rob a few hours after they returned from St Hughes. The two had just been grilled about their statements given after Carl Trent's overdose and were sitting in the canteen discussing it.

"Not the first and I expect it won't be he last either," he sighed.

"Coming down the pub tonight?"

"I don't think I'll be that welcome down there at the moment," Rob sat down, "I'll give it a miss for a few days in fact I'm surprised that you want to spend any more time with me."

"I may not agree exactly with how you did it but I admit I would love to see the little git knocked down a peg or two and if you really want my opinion you'll mingle with the relief as soon as possible, integrate yourself otherwise they'll resent you all the more. Anyway I think Natasha really likes you," he smiled.

"Natasha?"

"Natasha Hadleigh, you know, young, blonde, jailer from yesterday. Once news of our outing spreads, and believe me it will everything is noticed in a place like this, you'll be her knight in shining armour."

"Oh right."

"She's worth more than just an 'oh right', she's a bit of all right certainly. You sound like I've just cuffed you to Reg for the day," Tony chuckled "You have to get back on the horse sometime."

"What was she like?"

"Well you've seen her."

"Eh? Oh no sorry I meant Cass Rickman," he corrected.

"Oh yeah, you lied to Nick didn't you I never showed you a photo," he said firmly.

"Got me off the hook though didn't it," Rob smiled. "I would like to see one though."

"No-one expects you to be another Cass Rickman y'know especially not because of the number."

"I know. I'd have to shave my legs plus my scouse accent sounds like Harry Enfield anyway. Calm down, calm down," he joked.

Tony laughed, "seriously though you should come. 'The Elcott Arms' is a lovely little pub, does better grub than here too."

"I've not really been close to anyone since my wife," Rob muttered.

"You left her back in Surrey though."

"I didn't leave her I followed her. She's in London and in the Met," he replied soberly.

The next morning FDO Robbie Cryer entered her small office with a cup of freshly brewed tea and a copy of '_Hello_' magazine. This was her little morning ritual just to get the day started. The 'customers', as she called them, usually started trickling in during the next couple of hours. Today though an old man was already waiting for her, looking as if had not slept all night yet his clothes, a smart black suit and tie, looked fresh on.

"Sir?" Robbie asked, "you alright there?"

The man got up, adjusted his clothes slightly, and approached the desk.

"Good morning, young miss," he gave a smile, "I wish to speak to PC Stamp or PC Weston, preferably both."

"I'm afraid everyone's out on patrol at the moment but I can call them back in if it's urgent," she replied.

"Is there anybody in authority I can speak to in the meantime, to pass on my message."

" The Superintendent and the DCI are knocking around somewhere."

"No, I don't really want to bother the bigwigs just yet, do you maybe have an Inspector I could talk to?" he asked kindly.

"Ooh yeah Inspector Gold's in. Bear with a sore head and a thorn in its paw before she's had her coffee though. I can get you an appointment if you're prepared to wait a while. Could I just take your name and what its about please, sir?" she asked.

"Ah yes, she'll do, Woman after my own heart. My name's Jerry Trent by the way, I apologise for not introducing myself earlier, and I've come regarding my son, Carl, the young lad who had a bit of an overdose in your cells two nights ago," he explained.

"Ooh right I heard about that, nasty."

"Yes, well he was recovering very nicely in hospital until recently. He is now missing, discharged himself, struck by his own hand as it were, and I'm holding your officers responsible!" he added sternly.


	7. More Interviews

"Get you trousers on you're nicked!"

Rob laughed.

"My favourite line from '_The Sweeney'_," Tony added, "I've wanted to use that one for years but would you believe it the opportunity has never arisen."

"Ok, this is my best, Reagan and Carter are talking to a snout on this stairway, right, and John Thaw he says to him "'Come on, I know about that little tickle you 'ad' then this guy replies," he gave a laugh. " 'I swear Mr Reagan I don't know nothin' about no tickle'. Not the exact I know but most I can remember. I mean 'tickle', was that an actual slang word in the Seventies?"

The two officers were walking down Taft Road again. Rob felt more relaxed pounding the same beat again although he still kept an eye out for Trisha. Tony was eager to find out more about his partner's missing wife but hadn't wanted to press the issue last night especially after everything that had just happened.

"Remember how it was when you first joined? A whole new world and vocabulary," Tony mused.

"I was locked up in a cell when I first decided to join up," Rob explained, "Drunk and disorderly when I was a student. They locked a bunch of us up for the night for turning the town centre into a racetrack for shopping trolleys."

"And that made you want to come back? If it had happened to me I'd be scared straight."

"For the first time, I mean I never thought about it before, but for the first time I looked at the Police differently."

"Through the bars of a cell? What do you mean differently?" Tony asked.

"Not sure I can describe it but whatever it was it must've been good for me because here I am 13 years later," he sighed. "Met my wife at Hendon too, I sometimes wish that had never happened either."

"You don't mean that, surely you must've had some good times together. A touch of the 'Hart to Hart's', husband and wife crime fighting duo."

"I came down here looking for her, that shows you how much she means to me. Or I may just be fooling myself into thinking that if I make a grand gesture then we may have another go at it. I don't know," Rob replied, Tony looked a little shocked.

"New challenge?"

"Just decided to get off my arse and look for her down here. It's been a couple of years and I spotted a position in Sun Hill in 'The Job'. It may be a little backwater but it's as good a place as any to start, I've still no idea where she is, it could be anywhere in London."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Tony asked.

"Who do you think you are? Sergeant Wilson," he retorted. " We're not divorced just separated. I can patch it up, I think."

"I don't think Police Officers are meant to have love lives," Tony grumbled.

"Perhaps not even lives at all outside of the job. Police officers are on the perimeter of life; patrolling the outside rim so that everybody inside can enjoy a normal existence, 9 to 5 job in a bank, marriage to a perfect virginal partner, 2.4 children and doing all this until they die in their sleep aged 102. We are the whipping boys, Tony; we take all the lumps for everyone else. Personally I don't believe you can have it both ways, good luck to those that cross over and do make a good enough go of it of course but for the rest, even the things we've seen at the end of the day, puts us outside the box," Rob explained his thoughts sounding a little bitter.

"595 from Sierra Oscar," the radio crackled.

"Go ahead, Sarge," Tony replied.

"The Inspector wants you two chuckleheads back in and quick. Jerry Trent's down here and raising merry hell. Carl's discharged himself and done a runner."

"All received," Tony replied, a little on edge.

"51…PC Weston, did you receive that?" Sergeant Boyden continued.

"All received," replied Rob, never taking his eyes off of Tony.

"Happy now?" Tony asked his colleague sounding angry. The two walked on in silence as they turned tail and quickened their pace back towards the nick.

As PCs Stamp and Weston inched closer to Sun Hill Police Station, knots in their stomachs, they witnessed their superior officer bustling through the double doors with her coat casually adorning her shoulders and a packet of cigarettes in her hand. Tony was unsure about whether to tell the truth. He could deny knowing about what Rob had told Carl but then he wasn't 100 on it himself, not being in the room at the time. Rob began to get itchy too. In the cold light of day he wasn't sure what he did was the right thing, the Inspector was a mystery to him too, she seemed pretty old school but you could never tell when they were vying for promotion or when examples had to be made. He could either get a secret pat on the back for ridding the borough of a nasty piece of work or chucked out of the job permanently. Neither would help him to sleep any better though, last night had been terrible, staying up to all hours watching a ridiculous science fiction film about a large brain invading the town of Nowheresville, USA, until he drifted off for three hours.

"I've seen the walk of shame many times, boys, let's speed it up a bit shall we?" she called over to them, casually lighting a cigarette from the well-worn packet.

Rob gave a brief yawn, trying to hide it as best he could.

"Keeping you up are we, Robert?" Gina commented, blowing a few wisps of smoke. "Carl Trent managed to get past the guard, PC Neilson, when she nipped out for a cup of tea. There's an all units out for him at the moment."

"Do you want us out there, ma'am?" Rob asked.

"What I want, PC Weston, is you away from this case as far as possible. Jerry Trent is in there and he's not a happy bunny, he's accusing you of all sorts, which I have the pleasure of getting to the bottom of later on. It was hardly worth the DPS going was it? They'll be getting their own parking space here soon. Tony, can you see to Jerry please? He was asking after you so give him some tea & sympathy and try to calm him down. Rob, I want you in my office pronto! Go on, off you both pop!" Gina explained sternly through various drags.

Robbie Cryer sent Tony into the front interview room where he found Jerry sitting hunched over in one of the seats wringing his hands together.

"Mr Stamp," he looked up "You heard all this? About Carl?"

"We're doing all we can, Jerry, we'll find him don't you worry, he can't have got far."

"Amazing, he's out until all hours of the day and night and I don't worry, disappears from hospital and I worry like hell."

"Has anyone offered you a cup of tea yet?" Tony asked.

"They have, they have. I don't like those cups, those tiny little plastic things that break all too easily. I need a mug, I'm drying up here, mouth like the Sahara."

"I'll get you a proper drink then, be back in five minutes and we'll have a chat, ok," he sounded worried and left the room.

Standing outside the Inspector's office caused Rob to think back to his schooldays, indeed he had the same feeling in the pit of his stomach, the same pangs of guilt and dread. He stood bolt upright, like a giant ruler had been inserted down the back of his shirt, a trick he had learned at Hendon. An old Sergeant, who had served in the Falklands, called it 'Getting into a military frame of mind'. Rob dabbled with the idea of entering and standing inside but thought it was best to take the least amount of initiative when about to get punished.

"You can go in, you know," Gina said when she finally merged from around the corner, "Its not infested with man-eating sharks. She strode into the office, owning every inch of it, and invited the Constable to sit down.

"According to our Mr Trent you and PC Stamp were at St Hughes yesterday paying a little visit to his son, deliberately disobeying my orders to stay within the confines of this nick. You had words with Carl after which he became very withdrawn, agitated and disagreeable. More so than usual I expect. Now he's gone and done a vanishing act. Would you say that is a fair assessment of the situation?"

"Very fair ma'am."

"What exactly did you say to Carl?"

"Told him Arsenal lost against Chelsea."

"Doesn't sound like that big of a deal to me."

"Unless you're a red, ma'am," Rob smiled. "Don't know, don't follow it myself."

Tony backed into the front interview room carrying two steaming hot mugs of tea in his hands slightly burning his fingers on the edges of one because the handle was broken.

"Here we go," he said placing them down on the table, "Two freshly brewed cups of Rosie lee."

Jerry grabbed one; it had a picture of a train on it and the name 'Reg' in black lettering, firmly by the handle and started gulping it down.

"That's wonderful that is, really hit the spot," he added, hand still grasped around the cup.

"My old dad used to hold his pint glass exactly like that," said Tony.

"I used to, I bet that's no surprise to you. I've been dry since the last Tory government, old habits die hard, I seem to slurp down any beverage like it's a pint of mild."

"Telly Savalas, old '_Kojak_', used to do that, well sort of, they say that's why he sucked lollypops all the time. An effort to give up smoking," Tony replied.

"Any more news on my boy?" Jerry asked rubbing the cup with one of his hands.

"Not yet but we have plenty of officers out searching," Tony said trying to reassure him.

"Not too hard though, eh, I know what you lot think of him," moaned Jerry, looking mournful, "the psycho kiddie of the old lag. No one's in a hurry to see him back. Tell me something Mr Stamp, what exactly did your mate say to him?"

"I don't honestly know, Jerry, sorry, Mr Trent," Tony replied, trying to figure out what to say, "I was out of the room with you at the time."

Although he told the truth, that he didn't know for certain exactly what had been said, he knew what Rob probably implied to Carl. He weighed up the pros and cons of telling Jerry but also felt the need not to make the situation worse.

"He's a new bloke, just started this week, none of us really knows him yet."

"I know Carl's not the best lad, right little bastard sometimes, but he's had a hard enough life, I was in Parkhurst for most of it and then him mum went and died of Cancer. We were just starting to get some stability too. I was going to take him over to the States to see some old mates of mine, try and straighten him out a bit."

"He did tell me though that they were discussing your record," Tony said.

"That's nothing to me, Carl's proud of my lot, can't say I am these days, but he knows most of it," Jerry replied.

"Even what you got up to in the Sixties."

"It don't go back that far, you're bluffing, everything's digitalised these days on them computers."

"Paper trail still exists though," Tony continued. Jerry looked down at his feet, unsure of what to say.

"I've been meaning to ask, how are you settling in anyway?" Gina inquired.

"Good ma'am," Rob replied quickly, a little unnerved.

"How's your wife? Has she adjusted to the move up here in Sin City?" she probed further, sitting behind the desk but keeping her eyes firmly fixed on him.

"She's finding it a little hard but we're getting on good so far, knock on wood," he added giving a brief rap on the Inspector's desk. A mug of tea sat near the middle spilling a little with the vibrations causing Rob to look slightly embarrassed.

"It was cold anyway," Gina noted icily. "I've been reading your file, very interesting, married to someone else in the job too, that must be tough. So tough in fact that I see she moved down here over a year and a half ago."

Rob tried to think of something to say various lies swirled around his head but none seemed to stick, so he just remained silent. Senior officers, like any boss, loved to have their moment of glory in the sun before they bring the rebel employee to heel.

"DC Amanda Finnigan, a promising young detective so I've heard."

"DC!" Rob said in amazement.

"A full Detective Constable, well on her way to becoming a Sergeant, yes. Oh, you seem surprised Robert? That little bit of chitter-chatter never come up around the dinner table?"

"Must've slipped her mind, ma'am," he knew the game was up.

"She's up for a commendation too, saved a ten year old girl from being raped at knife point by a violent paedophile over in Camden."

"She's living in Camden now?" he asked.

"Don't you know?"

"I haven't heard much from her, Christmas Cards, but nothing about where she's been living or what she's been doing. Changed her name back too I see. Not surprising really, she never liked the name 'Weston'," he said dolefully.

"We are not a lost and found agency for runaway spouses, Robert. You are here to work and if you don't like that then you can clear off. If you really want to make a go of it down here then I wish you luck, the same goes for if you want to find Amanda but if you do then you do it on your own time and under your own steam. If I should hear about you abusing the system or any of the personnel files then you will be out, not just this station but the job, in about the same time as it takes my boot to reach your backside. Is that clear?" Gina continued.

"Crystal, ma'am," added Rob feeling that their 'little chat' would never end.

"Your mate told my son I'm…didn't he?" Jerry said looking hurt.

"I don't know if he did for sure. We were out of the room remember," Tony replied sounding uncomfortable.

"Fair enough, you can't blame someone else for the crimes of another I suppose. What is it they call it? Shooting the messenger, that's it. I bet that's what he said though, I bet that's the sole reason you two turned up!"

"I'm terrible sorry, Jerry. I was trying to keep an eye on him," Tony apologised.

"At least I know why he ran off and that's some comfort. Closure I think they call it these days, daft word. All the cogs in Carl's head must be going a mile a minute right about connecting all the dots. He thinks his Uncle James is, well, his Uncle James. If he ever returns there's going to be some heavy fallout."

"At least you've finally got it off your chest, truth is better out than in, isn't it?" Tony said.

"Some things are best left buried, deep down, where they can't be found. I would've gone to my grave with it!" Jerry spat back. "These days everyone thinks its so much better to be open about everything and that its so much better now than back in the old days when we kept ourselves to ourselves but that's just poppycock. We were just…just keeping each other from being hurt," he added with the beginnings of a tear in his eye.

"My dad's just like that. Keeps all his feelings bottled up and everything was better in the old days when men were men, women were kept in the kitchen and all everyone talked about was the weather."

"Sensible chap. I've still got other secrets though which I'm glad Carl hasn't discovered."

"Like what?" enquired Tony.

"This never gets out ok, I feel I can trust you and if it does this time I will know exactly who said what to whom!" Jerry warned. " That job, the Lonsdale Bank one, I never planned it or anything I was just a muscle for hire in them days but I was the first one they nicked so they pinned the whole lot on me. Morley and Lock never put their hands up once they got caught either so that just left me," he explained, chugging down more tea. "I went along with it of course, I wanted to be the big man especially inside, the other cons couldn't do enough for me but then they also thought I had a nice few grand tucked away somewhere."

Tony laughed.

"I mean how could I? It was a complete fuck-up from start to finish. There was barely enough time to fart let alone stash the gear before my collar was felt," he sounded melancholy, cradling his cup carefully. "I liked playing up to the image though so if Carl found out that I was just one of the skivvies instead of this giant kingpin that planned it all then that would've killed him just as much. If he ever returns."

"He just needs some cooling down time that's all," added Tony

"Hope its not too long," Jerry said with a little smile.

"I'm going to tell you a little story, Robert," Gina said calmly getting up from her seat and starting to pace around the room.

"Why, ma'am?" Rob asked, trying to figure out his senior officer's way of thinking. As soon as she seemed to be giving him a ticking off she would say something which appeared to be letting him off the hook.

"Because today is my day on '_Jackanory_' now shut up and listen!" she ordered. "Way back in the Stone Age when I started out I was stationed over at Golders Green, very appropriate, and we had a Sergeant there, Sergeant Foster, who was inclined to dish out his own brand of justice whenever he was in charge of Custody. 'Service Circles' he used to call them. He would gather up a gang of PC's, bring out a particularly nasty prisoner and they would all give him a good hard kicking."

"Didn't the Inspector do anything?" Rob looked shocked.

"Darling, it was the Sixties there very few of us who were true blue 'Dixon of Dock Green's especially if you had a guvnor like Peter Harlow who used to enjoy putting the boot in as much as anybody."

"That's barbaric."

"Oh it wasn't every prisoner just a…select few," Gina whispered. "The name Susie Blake mean anything to you?"

"One of the very first WPC's wasn't she?" he replied.

"Very good, that'll earn you a few brownie points with the feminists around here. She was posted to our nick briefly and one night she was sexually assaulted behind the back of a local pub, '_The Green Man_' I think, while trying to break up a fight. A local thug named Mike Henderson was brought in for it and got the kicking of his life. These days the papers may be full of '_Sexism in the Met_' headlines but trust me everyone sticks together and we look after our own. Most of the station turned out for that one," she looked wistful, recalling a memory but was unsure if it was one she was comfortable with. Rob felt a little more relaxed.

"Did you tell your superiors?" he asked.

"If I had, dear, then I would've been the first one in the cells and bunking down with the Chief Inspector at that. Now there was a man who smelt like a sewer," Gina sat back down in her seat behind the desk looking calm.

"I'm not sure what you mean, ma'am, how is this relating to me?" added Rob sounding confused.

"Unofficially I would be a happy as anyone to see the Carl Trents of this world fall into the nearest black hole but I prefer it done in the right way. We've had enough bad pennies at Sun Hill to fill the Nat West. Every copper has their fair share of skeletons in the cupboard but you, PC Weston, seem to have more than most and they all have a nasty habit of spilling out into the papers. Now we don't have the Woking Times or whatever down here we have the red tops to worry about and they don't play too nice or forgive so easily. Small columns enlarge into front pages that will stick to you like glue throughout your career. Watch your step and you'd better hope that Trent turns up safe and sound or I'll be down on you like a ton of bricks!" she continued. "Send PC Stamp in here next. Go on, off you pop!"

Rob hurriedly left, closing the door carefully as he set off down the corridors and in search of Tony, 1001 things tripping through his mind.


	8. Night at the Pub

Rob Weston trudged through the rain sodden streets of Sun Hill searching. He knew exactly what he was looking for but wasn't sure where to find it, the many roads he had walked up and down all seemed to converge into one that led him nowhere. Looking up he saw a faint glimmer of light in the night sky bouncing off a pub sign depicting two arms clasping each other in a show of camaraderie with the words '_The Elcott Arms_' imprinted in bold black print over the top. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked for the entrance. A set of double doors were located around the side of the building, Rob rushed forward as soon as he saw them, anything to get out of the rain as quick as possible. For a minute he briefly caught his reflection in the mirrored panels and stared into his own eyes, something which he hadn't done since he first arrived in London.

The last couple of days flew through his mind, Carl Trent's overdose, Jerry Trent's complaints and his dressing down from Inspector Gold. Afterwards, in his search for Tony Stamp, he had tried to apologise to Jerry but the old man barely uttered a reply, his son remained missing even now. Tony rarely spoke to him for the rest of the day, which thankfully, passed without incident. Rob pushed the double doors open and felt like 'The Man with No Name' walking into a hostile saloon in a deserted western town like in some cowboy movie from the Fifties. Groups of his colleagues were scattered around the pub each looking at him in different ways and many of them with a whole drawer full of knives. A few of the relief came over to him, discreetly whispered their approval and promised him as many pints as he could sink for the rest of the evening. One such officer was Sergeant Boyden who had spoken with him at the end of the shift. Rob had refused the earlier pub trip but though that from now on he had better tow the line especially where the senior officers were concerned. The Inspector and the Superintendent were even propping up the other side of the bar. As he walked over he felt two large dogs brush past his legs, chasing each other all over the floor, without a care in the world.

"You're late!" said Matt when Rob appeared at the bar beside him.

"Couldn't find the place, there must be about a hundred pubs in this area," he complained.

"A good copper knows his patch inside and out. You'll have a fair few shouts in here. Mine's a pint by the way," he smirked. Rob sighed, faked a smile and tried to attract the attention of the barmaid.

"Hang on, hang on," Matt grabbed him by the arm. He dug his hand into his pocket, pulled out a £10 note and pressed it into Rob's hand.

"Get one for yourself and for misery-guts over there," Matt indicated towards Tony who was sitting by himself on the table nearest to the serving hatch. "Now, no matter what anyone else says Sun Hill is a much better place without Carl Trent and his cronies pissing all over the streets. At least you'll have the relief talking to you again now don't give them an excuse not to now I understand this is beyond your control, you haven't had the best start here, but there's no reason to make it any worse. We don't tolerate lone wolves here so anybody that doesn't fit it is out, I run a tight ship."

"I doubt I'll have time to fit in. the DPS will be back soon to investigate Jerry Trent's complaint," Rob added soberly starring across the bar trying to attract the barmaid attention.

"You might have a bit longer than that," Matt replied. " Before I left a mate of mine from Hammersmith called me up and told me that Carl had been chucked out of a pub down there earlier today for starting a fight. CAD room put in a call to Jerry and, with any luck, he'll be on the next train over."

"He'll be back at some point," he added soberly in-between ordering the drinks

"Carl's still alive and there's no definitive proof of what you even said to him. Trust me, the whole matter will be forgot about within a week. Cheer up, remember what I've said and have a good night," he smiled and moved quietly over to a table where a single, attractive blonde woman was waiting for him.

Thoughts of Cass Rickman hadn't bothered him for a day or so. It was strange when someone you know so little about can occupy so much space in your head. The barmaid, a teenager with cropped dyed blonde hair and a tight white top with the pub's logo on it, had to crush his hand with an empty pint glass to snap him out of his thoughts.

"Oi, wake up!" she said sharply.

" I bet Peggy doesn't do that in the _Queen Vic_!" Rob replied.

"What are you gonna do, call the cops," she replied sarcastically in a broad Essex accent.

"I could do."

"Which ones? The suits by the slot machine or the drunks starring at their hands in the corner," she smiled.

As the money and drinks exchanged hands Rob noticed a familiar figure walk up to him, Mickey, the DC from yesterday.

"Hi again," he nodded.

"Alright, you get what you wanted at the hospital?" Mickey asked.

"I thought I did," he replied soberly.

"Goes like that sometimes. I'm glad Trent's cleared off to tell you the truth," Mickey added. " The raid on that café turned up nothing, we couldn't even find the chef, whole place was cleaner than the Pope's bathroom. We're still watching the place though, for however long the guvnor allows anyway," he sipped his drink.

"I tell you what, if you need any uniform to help out give us a shout," Rob offered.

"After the overtime already are you?" Mickey laughed. "Big prices here in the big city."

"I just want to help catch whoever was responsible, first case and everything."

"You've done enough already, mate, but thanks for the offer though I'll keep it in mind when we need to nip out for a curry," he continued with a grin.

"Mickey! Are you going to play this game or what?" a tall, blonde haired man said standing in the corner with a snooker cue in his hand.

"Nice to see you again," Mickey said to Rob before moving away towards his friend. "You might as well just give me your money now, save me the trouble!" he shouted back.

Rob said goodbye and moved over to Tony's table clutching the pints, one of which started dribbling down his hand and onto the carpet. The dogs quickly raced over to lap it up.

"Evening," he said.

"Evening," Tony replied. "That for me?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want it. I've already got one," he added indignantly.

"Sergeant Boyden's money," Rob said giving a brief smile, putting the drink on the table, and sliding it over towards Tony.

"Blimey, I'll have it stuffed and mounted," he said taking a sip as if to check it was real.

"Mind if I sit down?" Rob asked gingerly sliding a stool over from the bar.

"If you like," Tony replied frostily. The two sat sipping their drinks for a minute or so as if they intended them to last all night.

"How did your interview go?" Rob asked sheepishly.

"I've had worse but don't worry I didn't drop you in it!" he replied haughtily. "I said I would keep a closer eye on you next time."

Rob looked up. "Next time?" he asked.

"Looks like we've been shackled together for the time being."

"And you'd rather we weren't?"

"Again, I've had worse," he compromised.

Rob looked up and smiled briefly.

"I never did show you a picture of Cass, I found one the other night while sorting out some old stuff, if you still want to see," Tony asked.

"Sure."

Tony reached into his pocket and carefully took out a well-preserved photograph of three women in evening dress: two brunettes and a blonde. Rob looked at it for a minute or so.

"I know her," he said pointing to the blonde. " She's over there," he indicated towards a table over to the left. "Penny?"

Tony chuckled. "Nope, Polly, Polly Page. This was taken about three years ago at Dave Quinnan's wedding, he was a PC here, joined SO10 last year. This is Cass here," he pointed to a smiling curly haired woman in a black dress who was standing over at the far left of the picture holding a glass of red wine.

"She's beautiful, was beautiful," Rob replied quietly.

"Chatty too, could talk the hind legs off a donkey and had an accent you could slice through," Tony added wistfully.

"Who's the woman in the middle?"

"That's Vicky Hagen, another PC, she transferred out your way nearly 18 months ago."

"Passage of time twists us all down a few alleys doesn't it," he pointed to the picture, "died, transferred and…didn't she try and kill herself"

"The marriage didn't last long either, Dave's I mean."

"Well every nick has a few stories," Rob added, trying to lighten the mood.

"In our case it more like the '_Tales from the Cryptkeeper_'," Tony deadpanned back. He picked the photo back up and put it back into his inside pocket. "Still want to stay here?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Everyone has a choice."

"I'm no Cass," Rob locked eyes with Tony.

"I don't know, a bit of lipstick and shave your legs," the two laughed together. Rob felt guilty about it but it was nothing compared to what was going on behind Tony's eyes. Thoughts of the past, memories of Cass, Dave and several other Sun Hill officers, his indecision over the Carl Trent case plus a reluctant re-acceptance of his new colleague. Rob could tell he was on thin ice with the only friend he had managed to make so far.

"Evening gents!" a smiling Reg Hollis joined them at the table.

"Rob, have you met Reg? A legend in his own lunchtime," Tony said cheekily.

"Yeah, we met before, evening mate," Rob replied. A thought could clearly be seen entering Tony's head and his eyes moved upwards briefly.

"Perhaps you can show Rob your party piece, Reginald," he said.

"What's this?" asked Rob.

"That man sitting opposite you is an encyclopaedia of knowledge, most of it totally useless I grant you, but within those buzzing hives of grey matter there lies an elephantine memory containing a directory of every Officer that is currently serving, or has served, in the Metropolitan Police since…well, bloody ages ago," explained Tony like he was narrating a documentary.

"Oh…yes," Reg cottoned on. "Well pre-1960 I get a bit hazy but other than that I'm pretty proficient, yes. Why? You got mates down here?"

"Let's start with an example, say, er, Armstrong," Tony interrupted as Rob sat up with interest.

"Okay, Armstrong," Reg's mind could be seen physically calculating his response. "Five officers, 3 PC's, one DS and…um," he closed his eyes.

"A DI on the moon," Rob joked.

"No Uxbridge actually, he was made up to DCI last year I believe," Reg said straight-faced.

"Give us one of the PC's," asked Tony, arms folded, enjoying the scene.

"PC Jane Armstrong, graduated 1995 and currently serving in Lambeth and, funnily enough, she went to Hendon with DS Tom Armstrong who's with MIT presently."

"See what I told you, amazing. The eighth wonder of the world is our Reg," beamed Tony.

"You should be on TV, the amazing Reg, the memory man," Rob agreed.

Reg smiled looking a little embarrassed. "Well I did try to get on 'You Bet' once but they already had some bloke on the week before, see, who claimed he could remember every name in the phone book. He did it, too, it was very impressive."

"What about Weston?" Tony asked bluntly. Rob looked a little startled.

"Not sure, I think there might be a Toby Weston in Ruislip, I know there was one who went up north. He's the only one I know of," Reg replied.

"Oh…right," Rob looked indifferent at hearing the answer.

" She must be using her maiden name then," Tony said to Rob.

"What's this all about anyway?" inquired Reg.

"Looking for Rob's estranged wife, transferred down here about a year or so ago," Tony replied. "What was her name?"

"Don't remember," he stalled.

"You must do! Not a thing you're likely to forget is it," Tony sounded like he really wanted to help.

"The thing is…I…I'm not sure I want to know yet…not sure I'm ready," rob replied sounding worried.

"I thought that's what you came down here for," Tony asked haughtily.

"Perhaps I'd better just settle in a bit more first and then worry about finding her," he added quietly. Faced with the reality of actually finding Amanda he didn't feel he was ready to face her again just yet.

"Suit yourself," Tony finished his drink and got up. "Time for another I think," he rubbed his hands together. "Reg, now PC Weston here, earlier today, expressed an interest in model trains. His granddad had quite a collection apparently," he said patting Rob on the shoulders.

"What?" Rob looked puzzled.

"Really? We must have a chat," Reg sat up.

"You two chat, there's a bit of a queue so I may be some time," Tony smiled and walked off.

Reg's words and descriptions of various locomotives blended into background noise as Rob looked around the pub. He knew nothing about trains but allowed Tony a little victory, he stayed at the bar talking to Gary Best for another half an hour, shooting Rob a grin whenever their eyes met. If this were his price to pay for his new friend's respect then he would gladly take the lumps. It was the first time he felt settled at his new home, despite the various issues and proceedings hanging over his head, this fresh start might just be the best thing for him after all.

The End


End file.
